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| Watched the pilot episode of "Glee" tonight. Man, what crap. I was kind of impressed though at how the writers didn't even bother making up their own characters for the kids and just borrowed them all from someone else. The Sassy! Singing! Black girl! was brought to you courtesy of pretty much every other tv show ever. Poor thing never got to say a line that wasn't some sort of sassy comeback accompanied by a lot of eye rolling and snapping and hip thrusting and so on. I was worried the actress was getting whiplash by the end of the episode from all the hand-waving and nodding she was doing. The unpopular-but-pretty bossy whitebread overachiever, always dressed in conservative necklines but cute flippy skirts, was straight out of "Election." I imagine her casting description read "Tracy Flick with brown hair." The punky Asian girl with blue streaks in her hair and lesbian tendencies? A teenage copy of "Chuck's" Anna Wu (right down to the way she dressed). The Gay Fashionista with an Emo Haircut was "Ugly Betty's" nephew grown up, and stripped of all his endearing qualities. Although I do think it's interesting that a gay kid is a required stock character in high school shows now. Even just 5 years ago it wasn't like that. The Kid in the Wheelchair didn't even have a personality. He was just a kid in a wheelchair. Usually he'd be in the background, but here they made him part of the regular main cast. However, not being able to come up with any character depth for him on their own, they decided he could do without. Finally we had the Sensitive Jock, who was no one in particular, but has been a beloved staple of teen movie/tv show fare for decades now. And of course despite there being no reason why any of these characters should be the leads of the show while others aren't (the teacher who runs the glee club, sure, but the kids are an ensemble cast), of course the episode focused on the two "mainstream pretty" kids: ie, the jock and the preppy overachiever. We didn't learn a single thing about the homelife or private life or ANYTHING of the other four. Awesome. Meanwhile, something that IS awesome:  Isn't that adorable? | ||||||||
Spill your mind: 11 Dry Martinis or Pour me a double   |
House of Pomegranates
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June 6th, 2009
June 3rd, 2009
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| So exhausting in fact, that it shall be told in bullet format: -Up at 4:30 am, after about 4 hours of sleep -Worked as poll officiant 16 hrs straight, till 8:30pm -Headache after argument after argument after argument: constant calling of lawyers and contesting of rules, oiiiii. -In the end, we won an estimated 25-28 of the seats we were going for! 29 would give us a majority, but even if we only get 25, that is a sizeable chunk of the pie! Hurrah! -Celebration banquet and party with equally exhausted people afterward. In case you all forgot what I'm talking about, it's this. I reported to the polling place as a poll worker for the Republican party expecting to have a tedious, dull day of routine paper pushing. Instead it was a full on battle. By doing absolutely nothing more than sticking strictly to the rule book, I managed to enrage the incumbent Democrat candidates and challengers to the point that they were threatening to call the lawyers any time I attempted to help a voter, because I was "biased in favor of the challenging Democratic candidates." Even though the only thing I ever did was explain how to use the machines to properly vote, and how exactly to enter write-in candidates. (Of course the write-ins were the competition, so no wonder the incumbents didn't want voters getting help with that. No wonder, but illegal.) I should say that New Brunswick is such an overwhelmingly Democratic city that we had, oh, something all of 10 Republicans come out and vote. No one challenged them, no one cared--and the other "Republican" poll worker was as Republican as I am. However, the race between the different Democrat slates, oh my! All I did was try to make sure everything was done according to the rules, and that the election was conducted fairly and to the letter. This was a problem considering that the incumbent party's challengers kept making up rules and insisting they were real. They tried to kick D4C candidates out of the polling place and prevent them from acting as challengers because they did not have badges, despite the fact that the rulebook states candidates were automatic challengers and did not require badges. They tried to prevent recently moved voters from filling out provisional ballots. They insisted only the poll worker with the highest seniority could provide assistance to voters in operating the machines, and raised holy hell when I ever approached such voters--even though the rules state that a voter needing assistance was to be helped by a poll worker from each party (ie, me, and another Democrat poll worker). And even though, in deference to their tantrums, I let the other poll worker provide all the assistance, and only watched silently to make sure it was done correctly. (It was. Happily the other poll workers in my specific district were both competent and neutral.) Some of the other poll workers, also new, would take the insistent and confidently delivered statements of these "rules" at face value, but I would just turn to our official rulebook and double check every such pronouncement, and sure enough, usually it was completely untrue. That is all I did, and I was in arguments with their lawyers and under threat of them calling the Board of Elections to remove me for partisanship during most of the day. I was indeed friends with most of the challenging slate's candidates and campaign-people (and had helped with the campaign), but as far as my office as poll worker went, I bent over backwards not to be partial--even going so far as to specifically ask other poll workers to help voters out when I knew they would be likely to vote for D4C candidates. And several times I had to watch as elderly people that I knew had come to vote for D4C candidates cast their ballots for other candidates by mistake, and I didn't say a peep, because unless they ask for help in casting their ballot, I am not allowed to provide it. (Specifically, a man came in carrying a D4C pamphlet and said that his friends told him "to go out and vote," but seemed confused about the candidates. He asked for information on the candidates, but we are not allowed to provide that at the polls. He knew he wanted to vote against the incumbent Democrats, but asked to be affiliated with the Republican party. I tried to explain that if he affiliated that way, he could only vote on the Republican ticket, where most of the candidates were running unopposed, but that if he affiliated as Democrat, he could choose from several Democratic slates. He still insisted on affiliating as Republican, and so of course I had to let him, as I do not break rules and do not tell people how to vote.) Anyway, that was disappointing, but other incidents were much more fruitful, and I was happy to have been able to stop the incumbent challengers from making stuff up and throwing their weight around to enforce their fictional rules. And whole we didn't win all 56 seats, even taking half from an old guard used to running unopposed and taking their offices for granted is a pretty grand thing. Hurrah! D4C candidates and campaigners went out week after week and canvassed every neighborhood, knocked on every door, went to the ghettos and the projects as well as student dorms and condos; sent out Spanish-speakers and Russian-speakers to approach non-English-speaking residents, and overall made a solid attempt to reach every level of the city community, and it paid off. How well they'll be able to put this to use we'll see in the next two years... Now off to SLEEP FOREVER. | ||||||
| Spill your mind: 1 Dry Martini or Pour me a double |
May 30th, 2009
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| I was actually going to make a post on depressing Russian movies, and why American movies on the same subjects never manage to be quite as hopeless and bleak, but instead decided to post on the more upbeat movies today. If America can't outdo Russian bleakness, they also can't really outdo wholesome Russian optimism, as done in Soviet-era children's films. American upbeat children's films tend more towards the syrupy and the saccharine, but they don't have the same type of bright-eyed joyful optimism about the FUTURE. Now, of course the ideology behind this joyful positivism is problematic, but dammit, I miss it sometimes. The books and movies of my childhood that weren't depressing and brooding were UPBEAT and they Believed In Revolution and The Future and how we would Make It Awesome, and that is a feeling that's really quite rare and precious in its way. (What kept a lot of these stories from being saccharine, is that unlike American kids' fiction, they weren't afraid of dealing with serious or dark subjects when they needed to, it's just that Good triumphed in the end.) Anyway, the point is, it's time for more Russian music videos! This was one of my favorite movies for a while, and this was definitely my favorite song for an even longer while. I kept making my mother sing it to me over and over. Song About Bears: Somewhere in the wide world There, where it's always cold Polar bears rub their backs Against the axis of the Earth Centuries go past Seas slumber under ice The bears rub against the axis And the Earth spins La la la la la la la la la The Earth spins faster Round and round they go, working Turning the Earth's axis So that lovers could Meet each other faster So that one bright morning, Earlier by a year or two Someone could say to someone Those important words ("I love you") La la la la la la la la la The Earth spins faster After the springtime rains Faster the sun will come And for two lucky ones For many-many years Summer lightning will flare Freshwater springs will ring Fog will steam in clouds White as a bear. La la la la la la la la la The Earth spins faster I don't know, I still love the idea of Polar bears being the ones responsible for the spinning of the Earth, and trying to spin it faster to unite destined lovers together. I think it's the mythologizing that appeals to me. I also had a bit of an early crush on the girl. I liked that she was a plucky tomboy type who escaped from her kidnappers with wit and spirit. (More proof of how Soviet children's stories had plenty of kickass female heroines.) Plus I was into kidnapping stories in general at the time, so this movie hit all my buttons. Never saw this movie, but now I want to. "They Say..." They say, that with every year this world gets older The sun hides further behind clouds and grows colder They say, everything used to be better some other time, than nowadays They say, but don't you listen; they say, but don't you listen; They say, but don't you believe! Many-colored, vast, and merry Not subject to the yoke of days nor years This world is blindingly young It's as young as we are. They say, that in the beginning everything was more wonderful But that magicians disappeared along with the mammoths And that the door to the land of wonders and fairytales has closed forever. They say, but don't you listen; they say, but don't you listen; They say, but don't you believe! Many-colored, vast, and merry Not subject to the yoke of days nor years This world is blindingly young It's as young as we are. They say, that truth with untruth has tired of battling That there are no more knights without fear or flaw That from now on everything has to be measured crooked They say, but don't you listen; they say, but don't you listen; They say, but don't you believe! Many-colored, vast, and merry Not subject to the yoke of days nor years This world is blindingly young It's as young as we are. This is how the world was thought up, young and fearless By an all-powerful magician, a brave knight And for pleasure and happiness it was given to us Infinite and wonderful, infinitely wonderful So that it would give us joy. Many-colored, vast, and merry Not subject to the yoke of days nor years This world is blindingly young It's as young as we are. I don't care if it's not realistic, there's something undeniably wonderful about this kind of staunch insistence on everything we cease to believe in childhood. | ||||||||
| Spill your mind: 2 Dry Martinis or Pour me a double |
May 28th, 2009
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| Watching "Doogie Howser, M.D." on hulu.com for the first time. I expected it to be cute and entertaining in a quaint, slightly dated way, but I didn't expect it to be so honestly good. It's a lot less cheesy and a lot more observant than I expected. | ||||||||
| Spill your mind: Pour me a double |
May 27th, 2009
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| Met up with Marc Bolan-kinda-lookalike briefly today, but he hadn't shaved and thus was absolutely useless. In fact, with the unshaven-ness and the bedhair thing he had going on, he looked rather more like Russel Brand. Not what is needed, sigh. Meeting him again tomorrow, with instructions to shave this time. It was kind of awkward again, but apparently he's into awkward (which explains why he said he thought I was "charming" and not "creepy" on our initial meeting). He asked me whether I was gay, and followed that up with "it just seems like you have someone." I rather appreciate both his fondness for awkwardness and his willingness to just go out there and say stuff, though. Makes things easier. Although I think he still finds my admission of "oh yes, I was hitting on you, I think you're cute, but I don't know you well enough yet to know if I even want to follow up on that" confusing. Meanwhile, am annoyed at continuously having to darn my favorite brown stockings. The fact that they're not quite socks is what makes darning them difficult, but then again, the fact that they're stockings that are almost as thick as socks (and thus susceptible to darning at all) was their main appeal. This brings up a question, however: how many people in this day and age darn socks anymore, or even know what darning means? I'm not a paid user so I can't do a poll, but I'd be interested if people weighed in on this in the comments. | ||||||
| Spill your mind: 7 Dry Martinis or Pour me a double |
May 23rd, 2009
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| Currently vegging out and watching Sex and the City, as apparently anything more strenuous ends up sabotaging my attempts to get over the ear infection. This episode is also a great reminder of why I so hated it before I grew to be distantly amused at it. It was the one where Carrie briefly starts dating a guy who owns a St Marks' comics store, before it turns out he (gasp!) lives with his parents and (gasp!) plays records and smokes pot all day and is in perpetual adolescence and thus unsuitable. If there's one thing SatC does well, it's outdated stereotypes! First of all, a St Marks' comic store owner wouldn't need to fall all over himself for Carrie and her "oops I thought this was a shoe store before, also aren't comics just for boys?" ignorance. He'd be dating some nerdy hipster hottie just as into comics and video games as he is. Second of all, not that there aren't plenty of adults who live with their parents and are indeed immature/irresponsible/any other number of things, but it really doesn't have to automatically follow. And certainly SatC is under no obligation to present an exception rather than the rule, but... what's the point of bringing this up when Carrie's friends' initial reaction is "ugh, he's not worth dating if he lives at home," and then, in a shocking twist... their prejudices are indeed confirmed and he's not worth dating! Besides, the character doesn't even make sense. If this guy has his own business, even if he lives at home, that requires a fair amount of independence and motivation and responsibility. Plus supposedly he either publishes or self-publishes a comic of his own--in any case, he has to draw it--and that's an awful lot of work. Even if it's just for fun, you can't run a business and draw a comic and be a lazy manchild layabout: there's just not enough time! But that's SatC for you: women confront new experiences, dismiss them, and retreat into comforting familiarity of cheating commitment-phobe millionaire sugar-daddy as the romantic ideal. Anyway, all that aside, felt a bit sick today but passed a pleasant Saturday. Drove home Friday after stopping by a friend's place and staying there a bit longer than intended, and I think Friday's exertion took its toll. However had family over today: a family friend, plus my aunt and uncle and ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} dangermousie's baby, who's in their custody for the weekend. Babyniece is lovely and was very happy to see her and got to hold her lots and show her geese. I would post photos of her but I think I'd need her mother's permission first.So I'll just post this and say that I think it's funny that in my family "barbecue" apparently means "salads and potatoes and meat pies and stuffed fish, with just a little grilled corn and some veggie skewers."  Well, technically, my dad WAS going to grill actual wings and whatnot, but everyone was so full by the time we finished with the "starters" that he had to scrap that idea. Also, I suppose I can post this, because you can't really see either of us here.  I do not currently want a baby, but other people's babies are fun to play with. | ||||||
| Spill your mind: 4 Dry Martinis or Pour me a double |
May 19th, 2009
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| Dear truck that parked behind me on the street: This section of curb fits 3 cars, but has nearly enough room for 4. There is no reason for you to be snuggling up to my car like that. I am glad that you want me to practice my parallel parking skills, but I assure you that I'll do that on my own, and that I rather enjoy the wide easy space allowed by local parking. It is also nice, I suppose, that your parking so damn close ensured that no one took my spot while I was away, since no one else wanted to bother with it. Happily for you, I was able to get back in without any accidental grazing. I hope now you're assured of my parking competency, and can park a foot away next time, considering you had well over 3 feet of empty space and a driveway behind you. Or else I kind of wish the next person who tries for the spot I'll vacate tomorrow isn't as good at maneuvering. Considering some lady backed into my stationary car in a parking lot today because she was pulling out totally without looking, next time you really may not be so lucky. Sincerely, Not been having a good week and am thus annoyed at petty things. ( And then also. ) | ||||||
| Spill your mind: 2 Dry Martinis or Pour me a double |
May 17th, 2009
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| So it turns out I had good reason to stay in last night. I went to bed with a general feeling of malaise, and slightly sore ears and throat, and woke up to throbbing pain in my ears. My entire head felt hot and thick and pulsing, and my throat ached with mucus, and the world felt all heavy and swimmy. Grateful for CVS Minute Clinics being open on Sundays, I got in the car and drove to my nearest one, feeling like I was almost going to collapse by the time I got there. When I walked in, the clinician said "Ok, what's wrong?" before looking at me and saying "right, you're sick." Then he looked in my ears and said "Wow." He told me I had "an infection, all right," and then proceeded to ask me if I had dropped something in there. Dropped something. In my ear. Uh, no. Anyway, he ended up prescribing me lots of antibiotics, except that... I am currently on a crappy health insurance plan that doesn't provide pharmacy care. I have to get medicine through the school pharmacy, which is conveniently closed on weekends--or else pay out of pocket. (I'm not sure that I don't have to pay out of pocket anyway...) Thus I bought the $10 antibiotic, and called my mom to figure out what to do about the $140 one. I drove home to see if maybe I had a pharmacy card after all, but no. Decided I felt awful enough that I would buy it anyway, quickly took the first antibiotic and some Advil, and drove to my local pharmacy... which did not have the prescription in stock. At this point I was still on the verge of collapse, and most of the pharmacies were closed or closing. Cursing, I got back into my car and drove around trying to find a 24-hr CVS. Found a Rite Aid, but it was closed. Found a Walgreens, and it was open, and had the medicine in stock... but they had some kind of phone issue and could not reach the CVS I had originally filed the script at. By the time that was sorted out, the CVS pharmacy had closed. So I drove again, and finally found the 24-hr CVS I had been looking for, that had the prescription in stock and also in its system, and so, $140 poorer, I was at last possessed of a tiny vial of ear drops. Tomorrow I go into the Student Health Center and try to figure out some things there. | ||||||
| Spill your mind: 8 Dry Martinis or Pour me a double |
May 8th, 2009
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| Yesterday I went to see Patrick Wolf at Le Poisson Rouge, which was a nice night up until I got caught in the rain again and stuck in Penn Station overnight. I also just found out that Patrick is shooting a video in Manhattan today, and he invited fans to audition for extras, but I am too a) old for that sorta thing, b) broke, c) tired to brave going to NYC again, so it's just as good I didn't know sooner. Anyway, the show itself wasn't quite as good as my last experience, but then few things could be. Mostly I think it had to do with the venue. It was billed as "An Evening With Patrick Wolf" and was quickly sold out, and I had been confused about that--I hadn't thought he was that popular here, and I kind of wanted him to remain a little underground. But when I got inside, I realized why it was sold out. The venue was small, and it was set up for "dinner seating." Meaning there was only standing space at the very edges of the room, and everything else was taken up by tables: thus, quite a small audience. I have to say, neither I nor anyone I spoke to was a fan of the set up. It seemed badly put together in all respects. I had intended on going to line up early to get a "good spot" but didn't, and am glad if that now, as it would have been totally useless. The organization of the line and tickets outside, although well-intentioned, was confusing. Rather than having people pick up tickets, a woman with a list went down the line and stamped the hands of everyone whose name was on it, and that was the ticket. UNLESS the tickets ordered weren't in your name, and then you had to go to the box office and show the credit card you used and so on. Then you had to wait in another line to show ID to prove you were over 21. I appreciate the attempt to dispense with paper tickets, but it should have been integrated a bit better. After being stamped and wrist-banded, they let us in (as the line was only for people waiting for stamps, etc), but didn't let us form any sort of line inside either. Instead we were told to wait in the downstairs bar, ensuing a confusing rush upstairs when the doors to the stage room were finally opened--and people coming right off the street got in first anyway. Besides that, of course most of the tables closest to the front were reserved for friends and family. Ok, so this isn't a venue where you can line up and jockey for prime spots: fair enough. Casual atmosphere, all that. But just in case you thought that dinner seating would spare you uncomfortably close contact with strangers, the seating was all spaced extremely tight, and each table was set for 6 people, minimum. Thus unless you came with a group of 6, high school cafeteria flashbacks ensued, as people went around asking "is this seat taken? Can I sit here?" It was very uncomfortable for any people joining a larger group, since the seating was so very close together: "hello, let me invade your table." I also have no idea how they'd accommodate larger persons, as one felt rather sandwiched in, and it took some flexibility and gyrations to move in between the tables, or to get out once you sat down.  (My photos were all a blurry mess so the nice pictures here are going to be courtesy of Gerry Visco.) Finally, sitting at tables as we were, it didn't offer the best view of the stage without some twisting. And you had to place two orders per table, so there was also food distracting you from the show... I understand dinner theatre, but I wasn't looking for it in this case. Far as I could tell, this venue only works if you come with a large group of friends, you all want to get drunk (ordering food is problematic as the lights shut down when the show starts), and you have something of a casual curiosity for the musician playing. At least the audience was appreciative, even if the venue insisted on making everything awkward. The people sitting right behind me were very exuberant in their reactions, and I always love it when I can see people really loving the music. And Patrick continues to be wonderful both at audience interaction and extending his charisma to connect with the room. Even in a set-up like that, where no one could get very close to him, and that seemed built to distance the audience from performer, he created an intimate and close atmosphere. I was nowhere near him this time, but I still felt more included in the performance than with some other musicians. He also talked a lot, asked for requests, feed-back, etc, and managed to respond even to call-outs from people in the very back of the room. To many people's disappointment, he did not grant the most frequent request ("take your kit off!"), saying he was too old for that now at the mature age of 25, haha. Kept referring to Joni Mitchell a lot, because he was playing at Bleecker st and all, and even did a cover. Also sang "happy birthday" to his cousin, which was really cute. ( Stage photos of Patrick and his stylish legwear. ) That said, I am not sure how I felt about the show being all acoustic. For one thing, honestly, I am not a big fan of the new album so far, and I had hoped hearing the songs live would convince me otherwise, but it didn't. For another, I am not sure how well stripped-down performance fits in with Patrick's music in general. Except for some songs on the more poppy "Magic Position" (including the title track), his music doesn't exactly have strong stand-alone melodies. It's all about the creating a haunting combination of multiple instruments and sounds and so on. When it was just him and a piano and a violinist, it seemed like the body of many songs was not just stripped down but almost lost. The "bare bones" idea was rather more apt than I might have wished. Mind you, I am still definitely going to his summer shows. That will have a 6-piece outfit, and will be in normal venues, so that should take care of most of my complaints. But he seemed to have a good time, and was in a cheery enough mood to stay after and sign things for people. More weird things about the venue: it doesn't have a back door, I don't think. The musician's quarters are across the hall from the stage room, and there's no way to get out except to cross that hall. Thus Patrick went through upon leaving the stage, and when I exited along with the rest of the audience, I saw that a bunch of people stood crowded around the door, basically blocking him in. It certainly wasn't the intent, but he pretty much had to go through them or else stay inside. I guess security could have dispersed people if necessary, but still--such odd venue set-up! I thought, what the heck, I'd wait along with the others. One adorable young gay boy asked excitedly "Do you think he'll come out? He seems the type to come out, don't you think?" I said that actually I thought he was the type NOT to (he's given to mood swings from what I see, and is not always in a sociable mood), but he proved me wrong. The security manager--most calm and un-aggressive security person ever--told us all to back up a bit so he could get some tables put together, and then Patrick would come out and sign things. Which he did. And again, Patrick Wolf fans? Remarkably unpushy, polite people. There was no jostling, everything was very relaxed, and Patrick spoke at length to anyone who wanted to speak to him, without any impatience from anyone involved. There were even several instances where he would finish talking to someone, and no one else stepped up to take their place, waiting until Patrick called someone forward specifically. This allowed it to feel like a pleasant, unhurried, unstressful interaction. I didn't even think to ask for autographs for friends like I usually do, not because I was nervous, but because I was just standing there making quips, and only asked for my own autograph because that was the expected thing. "Oh right, this is what I'm here for, isn't it?" Anyway, Patrick was an absolute sweetheart, easy and very accessible. Possibly though, because I didn't expect to meet him and was feeling pretty cavalier about it--some other people seemed a lot more nervous and giddy over it. But he won my respect because in addition to being so casually chatty, he also didn't take himself at all seriously. A lot of people asked for photographs of him, and so he started posing for them, almost instinctually snapping into these pouty-Zoolander poses. I was standing to his side at the time, and as soon as he started pouting, I couldn't help it and burst out laughing at him. He cocked an eyebrow at me and a little bemused smile, and I explained "I'm sorry, it's just... well, it's obvious you're professional at this whole posing business, and as soon as the camera goes off, you go into this patented pout, and I've seen that pose in your promo photos but I just can't keep a straight face when you do that." Rather than getting offended, he laughed and insisted he was having his own fun with it. Then he went back to posing for photos, and I went back to laughing. He turned back to me again, and I apologized again: "I'm sorry! I know you're the one posing so it should be you trying not to laugh, but really, when you make those faces!" And I pulled a pouty face, and then he started laughing, and I felt vindicated. "See?! It's hard not to laugh when someone's doing that in front of you!" And then we made silly pouty faces at each other, and he got on the table to pout and mime even more exaggeratedly for the people snapping photos. ( Check out some of these photos ) So adorable. And also so nice. From what I see of most musicians/celebrities, no matter how nice they are, they don't take well to anything that resembles people poking fun at them. To take that and run with it was awesome of him. Much love for Patrick. | ||||||||
| Spill your mind: 3 Dry Martinis or Pour me a double |
April 27th, 2009
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| So the really neat thing about Tent State, as I have mentioned in past years, is that it's a week that you get to spend living in a makeshift city composed of your friends. And even if you aren't friends with people there at the start, after a few days of being constantly in each others' company, you will be. It's a week apart in time, where you run around doing workshops and lobbying and so on during the day, and chill out playing soccer and tag and having long talks with new people under the influence of various... aids at night. The downside being that a lot of people do tend to kind of forget their other-life responsibilities at Tent State, and that's tricky so close to the end of the semester. This year, they're trying to integrate more opportunities for people to do their actual homework, etc, which is smart. Tomorrow I'm bringing my laptop, as I volunteered for security detail tonight for the midnight-3 am shift, and was quite bored having to sit in the admin tent. My social tendencies puzzle me sometimes. I know that I can only take so much mingling with people before I retreat into myself, so after several days of seeing people, I tend to need a few days of staying in at home away from company. But it's usually a gradual build-up. Yesterday, however, I felt super-social, and flitted about chatting with everyone. Tonight I suddenly felt out of it and couldn't focus on anyone for more than a few moments. I'd say hi to people, and feel affectionate towards them and all, but would feel jumpy and need to move on after only a few words. Kept wanting to just walk around by myself and watch people, but not necessarily interact with them (thus volunteering for the security shift). Got better towards the end of the night, though. But I think I may have put off a few people with my initial distracted and distant behavior. Yesterday though, I was told by a friend that apparently I come across as a flirt when I am being social, and am not sure what to think about that. I was complaining to this friend that I had started a conversation with this one guy, and then another guy I'd been talking to made it all very awkward by "joking" about how I was hitting on the first guy. Which immediately made him self-consciously stammer about how he had a girlfriend, etc etc, and made me likewise self-consciously proclaim that I was just being friendly and just because I'm talking to someone doesn't mean I'm hitting on them. (I really wasn't hitting on this guy, just being silly with him.) "But you do tend to give people that impression," my friend said. "I mean... lots of people have noticed that." Which I guess I can see. I like being playful and teasing with people, and I really really enjoy banter. That's my approach on initial meeting of people, and all right, yeah, that can look like flirting. And perhaps sometimes I am flirting. When I meet someone, if I find them at all passably attractive, I don't think it is weird to be casually flirtatious, but all that means is "at this moment I am open to possibilities." Sometimes I may not even find them particularly attractive, but if they start off with flirty banter, I may reciprocate for a bit just because that's the tone that's been established. As the conversation progresses, I get a better reading of the person and can then establish whether they are someone I want to continue flirting with, and either do so (perhaps intensifying the flirtation depending on level of interest), or shift into cooler mode. It worries me though if people think I am leading them on, or that I'm someone who plays but doesn't follow through. I think some people did interpret my initial approach as showcasing actual interest as opposed to potential interest, and were then rather put off to see me approach other people in that same way just a few moments after talking to them. But I can't tell whether this is really my problem or theirs, and whether I ought to consider changing my behavior here or not. After all, I'm not being dishonest: the way I see it, my behavior fully reflects my intent. Everyone's a possibility up until I get enough information to rule them out, but that possibility (and thus my "flirting") is so abstract, I don't see it as any sort of promise or anything but simple fun interaction with another person. There are a few people though, who I suppose have reason to think I may be sending mixed signals. As I said before, I really enjoy banter, but it's not always easy to find someone who can be as aggressive as I like about it. There's this one guy that I like mock-fighting with, because he is quite contrary and aggressive with me, and it's fun, but I can see how he thinks I may be flirting with him, since I seek him out for it sometimes. But I just like the banter! Sigh. It was funny though, yesterday I heard from one person that I apparently hated this guy ("Oh right, at that party, didn't you get into that huge fight with him?") and from another that I was apparently infatuated with him, as I keep initiating these verbal skirmishes. Both times my reaction was "wait, what?" I find him entertaining to talk to, but that is all: our opinions are too genuinely clashing for me to be interested in him, and yet I don't dislike him as so many seem to think, either. I always have a distant fondness for people who entertain me. This just means I am sorely in need of someone I can both flirt with and mock-fight with, and mean it, so I can stop trying to get my fix in other ways and confusing people. | ||||||
| Spill your mind: 1 Dry Martini or Pour me a double |
April 26th, 2009
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| We've gone from it being far too cold for April to it being far too hot for April. I'm not pleased. I've been reading Gone with the Wind recently, and it's been a pleasant surprise. I always felt the movie, while lovely, was too long, and I never quite managed to sit all the way through it. The book is also very long, but never tedious. Also I am amused at my naivete regarding the author. I remarked to my dad that I had been trying to figure out if Scarlett's racism was just a reflection of historical norms, or if the author also agreed with most of Scarlett's assessments, it being written in the 30s and all. My dad fixed me with a "goodness-my-daughter-is-an-idiot" look and scoffed, "it was written by a crazy woman and the whole thing is about how antebellum South was a glorious paradise destroyed by Yankees, I don't think the racism is there purely for historical accuracy." Or something to that effect. By the by, it's been bothering me how people keep repeating that bit about Scarlett "not being beautiful" as though it means she was unattractive and men were just deluded or deceived or something. She wasn't beautiful in terms of not quite having perfectly ideal features, but I should think the book makes it clear that she was quite pretty enough. It's not a case of her charms making up for her looks, it's a case of them supplementing her looks so that men perceived her as the most appealing woman they've ever met even though technically others may have been better looking. But it doesn't mean she wasn't good-looking herself. I mean, one of the real-life inspirations for her was Martha Bulloch, and one can see there that even though yes, her features aren't Greek-statue perfect, she would fall under most people's definitions of "a pretty woman" anyway. Anyway, for an indeed somewhat crazy-lady, Margaret Mitchell is brilliant at writing interpersonal interaction. Plus she's so funny. "This Mr. Butler took a Charleston girl out buggy riding. And, my dear, they stayed out nearly all night and walked home finally, saying the horse had run away and smashed the buggy and they had gotten lost in the woods. And guess what--" "I can't guess. Tell me," said Scarlett enthusiastically, hoping for the worst. "He refused to marry her the next day!" "Oh," said Scarlett, her hopes dashed. I wish I had gotten Ashley to compromise me, thought Scarlett suddenly. He'd be too much of a gentleman not to marry me. ------------------------------- ------------------------------- "If I went--would--would you be sorry, Miss O'Hara?" "I should cry into my pillow every night," said Scarlett, meaning to be flippant, but he took the statement at face value and went red with pleasure. "Would you pray for me?" "What a fool!" thought Scarlett bitterly, casting a surreptitious glance about her in the hope of being rescued from the conversation. "Would you?" "Oh--yes, indeed, Mr. Hamilton. Three Rosaries a night, at least!" Charles gave a swift look about him, drew in his breath, stiffened the muscles of his stomach. They were practically alone and he might never get another such opportunity. And, even given another such Godsent occasion, his courage might fail him. "Miss O'Hara--I must tell you something. I--I love you!" "Um?" said Scarlett absently, trying to peer through the crowd of arguing men to where Ashley still sat talking at Melanie's feet. ------------------------------- ------------------------------- She looked into the pleading brown eyes and she saw none of the beauty of a shy boy's first love, of the adoration of an ideal come true or the wild happiness and tenderness that were sweeping through him like a flame. Scarlett was used to men asking her to marry them, men much more attractive than Charles Hamilton, and men who had more finesse than to propose at a barbecue when she had more important matters on her mind. She only saw a boy of twenty, red as a beet and looking very silly. Love it. | ||||||
| Spill your mind: 2 Dry Martinis or Pour me a double |
April 24th, 2009
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| I woke up yesterday from a somewhat odd dream. Or not very odd at all, really, in the scheme of things. It was set in an alternative universe where a legion of costumed heroes, in order to fund R&D for their various tech gadgets, formed a corporate alliance and went public with their stock. Instead of using the revenue from their various companies as a tool for crimefighting, however, many of these ex-heroes eventually found the corporation as their primary interest, and relegated their costumed-hero alter-egoes to little more than marketing devices. Soon these ex-heroes, in collusion with the government, began a wave of recriminations against those who refused to comply and join into the corporate scheme. I don't remember the full details of the rest, except that one of the leaders of the resistance, Jade Scorpion or something like that, managed to escape the pogroms by utilizing a new second-skin recording cyborg technology developed in the R&D labs. (Basically a full-body latex mask that functioned as light armor, but also recorded every single sensation, sound, etc that it came in contact with.) I'm just writing this down because the dream sequence where she got knocked down by the weaponry of the enemy agents, and was left for dead with bleeding gashes all over her head and face, only to have her skin suddenly pucker, crackle, and split apart to reveal her mostly unhurt underneath was pretty damn cool. The recording Jade made of the corporate-ex-heroes attack on her lead to public outcry and overall cynicism regarding the whole costumed hero thing in general, and drove most of them pretty much underground. (Yes, yes, I've been reading Watchmen, I know.) At this point, everyone scattered, and I (as a minor participant in the resistance and one of Jade's casual friends) somehow got a job as a consultant for a film studio working on a motion picture about the whole thing. And starring Lindsay Lohan. I... don't know. Anyway, in my dream Lindsay Lohan was messed-up but likable, and someone everyone was kind of trying to watch over and protect, and also try to keep from derailing the project. So, one day she had a photo shoot, and we were trying to convince her to wear a nice, classy coffee-colored sheath dress with matching metallic shoes, rather than the weird gold-and-white tunic and sandals combo she was set on for some reason. Just as we had hustled her off to change, these three underworld gang-member types came in and made a beeline over to her. I had just wondered how they even got in, and where the bodyguards were, when I saw her not only listen to what they had to say, but follow them upstairs. Since in this world there was a lot of violence and shady dealings and so on, I ran to alert the bodyguard, but saw that he was already on his way, and I just followed. Upstairs turned out to be a lounge type place, with lots of low couches. Lindsay and the three men occupied the center one, and the bodyguard was watching carefully from the side, so in order not to be seen or get in the way, I vaulted over one of the couches so as to sit, hidden by its back, on the other side. Well, by "vaulted" I really mean "tripped running into the room, and made a bit of an awkward somersault." I ended up next to another couch, trying to eavesdrop on the Lindsay Lohan conversation without appearing too suspicious. The couch next to me was occupied, so still glancing behind me, I sidled up to it and whispered "I'm sorry, I don't know you, but please go along like we're just chatting, but don't actually talk as I'm trying to listen..." there I trailed off because I looked over at the people on the couch, and noticed that it was Neil Gaiman, and his son, with his leg in a cast, both sitting there and drinking coffee and working on their laptops. At this point I'm just sitting there with a stricken look on my face, thinking "...great. Now he's going to think I really am a stalker." Neil, meanwhile, stops typing and kind of smirks benevolently, or perhaps bemusedly. "We're chatting and you're trying to listen to..?" "Uh.. uh.. I'm..." "Yes?" "I'm, uh, engaged in this..." "Yes?" "In this little..." "Yes, go on?" "Little espionage, uh, mission?" "Oh, I see." Another bemused smile, and he looks around. I realize for the first time that to any onlooker, there seems absolutely nothing unusual going on: a starlet is chatting with three men, a bodyguard stands demurely to the side. His mouth twitches. "Must be very little." "I'm not stalking you this time, I swear!" And at this point I wake up, shaking my head at my subconscious yet again. I mean really, Lindsay Lohan? | ||||||||
| Spill your mind: Pour me a double |
April 21st, 2009
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| This weekend I drove to DC to help my friend Leah shop for wedding dresses, among other things. The weather was agreeably lovely up until yesterday, which was a much-appreciated favor. Now if only it could continue being so amicable... I actually left Thursday evening, later than I intended, in part due to the startlingly good weather. Thursday Tent State had a preview of Art City, where people came out and painted and played music on the lawn and gave out flyers to remind people of Tent State proper next week. I came by and did a crappy little painting of Morpheus, to possibly be spruced up when Art City goes up in full swing. I also signed up to run a face painting workshop and an anime/comics one, so I need to prepare for that. The Thursday gathering was less work and more just hanging out with people, though. After things wrapped up and the main organizers carried away the supplies, I went to dinner with the rest of the gang. It was the first time in ages that I'd been to the cafeteria, and was happy to learn that the cafeteria now serves sushi, and has rather a lot more vegan options than I remembered. I ran into another pleasant surprise in the cafeteria: namely, my friend Judd, whom I hadn't seen in a year. He thought he recognized me and came up to say hello, and I told him he was not allowed to disappear on me again. I miss the boy. Over dinner, I got into a dispute about feminism with one of the Tent State people, but I think all my talk with JJ about how I love bickering has been coming to haunt me, because I think I gave the guy slightly the wrong idea as I couldn't stop grinning throughout. "If you say you hate me, why are you smiling?" he asked, and I just shrugged "Well, I'm a very loving person you know, a hippie and all that. I hate you with LOVE." "I think you thrive on opposition," he retorted. "You need someone who can oppose you in order to do your best." ...He was entirely right. Yes, and I need a strong male lead. That's great, I'm either reverting to my adolescent impulses or becoming Scarlett O'Hara. I hugged him to confuse him further, and took my leave. After a brief trip to the library and a phone call to someone else to set up a possible date this week, I returned home to pack my things for DC. I ended up getting distracted and didn't leave till 1:30 am, which wasn't so bad really, except that I continued to be distracted and took the wrong way, almost driving to New York on autopilot before realizing my mistake. I tried to turn around halfway and somehow managed to continue on the wrong way. By the time I finally got on my proper way and stopped in for a gas refill, it was around 3:30 am. I decided to get some coffee, but as soon as I stepped out of the car and into the service station, I noticed that people kept giving me strange looks. That's when I remembered what I was wearing: namely, this: ( Oh hai knee socks ) It seemed a fun little thing to wear for the day, but I completely forgot about it once I started to drive. Considering one of the Tent State people said I looked like "every anime nerd's fantasy," it was no wonder people were looking at me quizzically and asking where I was going when I was out in the middle of the night. I tried to figure out what they were thinking: did they actually take me for a real Catholic schoolgirl, and were wondering what I was doing on the road so late on a schoolnight? Did they (correctly) peg me as too old for a schoolgirl, and thus just thought I must be some sort of dysfunctional weirdo, given to late night costume trips? Or (most likely), did they take me for a fetish-specific hooker? Awesome. Since I only got to DC at around 5:30 am, I ended up sleeping though most of Friday. Had a nice dinner with my parents, drank a lot of Kosher wine, went to bed to crash... and ended up not sleeping very much at all due to a phone call that ran a little long. Like, until 8 am long. Leah wanted me to meet her at her place at 9, so I catnapped for half an hour, then ran into the shower, dressed, and showed up at her door not excessively past 9 am. It was a gorgeous day though, so I was quite happy to be awake. Leah's fiance drove us to Georgetown, where we first stopped by a bakery so Leah could get him a birthday treat.   (Since I'm so rarely up and out at that time of day, I thought I'd document it.) I had rather forgotten how cute and picturesque Georgetown could be, and this made me quite miss it and wish to spend more time wandering about its environs. I didn't really frequent this area of the shops when I was a student there due to being both too busy and too strapped for cash, but even though I am still just as strapped for cash, the outing made me resolve to wander about there more. ( We walked about while we waited for Leah's other friend to join us, and to kill time before Leah's dress appointment... ) Eventually it was time to go watch Leah try on wedding dresses, and that was what we did. Then we had lunch, and then we saw Leah try on some more wedding dresses. At this point I was very tired and kept falling asleep whenever she was changing, so when we got back to her house, rather than going to the Spy Museum with her and her fiance, I went home and napped. After the nap I went back into the city to meet up with everyone for dinner. The restaurant we went to was right next to the Spy Museum, and also partially spy-themed (though mostly simply new American cuisine). I couldn't eat much there, but they had an admirable wine selection. ( Leah admires the wine selection while waiting for me to get out of the restroom. ) Although the day was lovely on its own, it made me think that next time I come to DC with a friend, a walk through Georgetown in the afternoon, followed by a stroll around the Mall and the Tidal Basin, and then the Spy Museum after the Smithsonian museums close (it's open till 9), topped off with cocktails, would be a perfect date day. Even better if I can get said friend to dress up as a spy with me and take silly pictures in the museum. Then Sunday I went to visit my lovely cousin dangermousie and my babyniece again. Babyniece continues adorable, and this time I even got to hold her! dangermousie entertained me with the first season of "Veronica Mars," which I apparently must watch now. I got lost as usual on my way back from her place, but eventually found my way enough to meet with keikokat and her boyfriend at a bar where he runs a pool night. It was really fun to catch up, and I'm going to try to make less spurious plans with her next time I'm in town. (Although better than last time, when I called her to ask if she could hang out that evening and it turned out she was in fact just leaving for Annapolis!) Now I'm back in Jersey and it's kind of rainy and cold, but Tent State is next week and I have hopes that the weather will oblige as it did this weekend. | ||||||
| Spill your mind: Pour me a double |
April 17th, 2009
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| http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9lp0IWv8 But I can't stop listening to it. It almost makes me cry. So beautiful. I can't embed this, but follow the link and watch/listen through. So worth it. The choice of song may also have something to do with it. I'm impressed not just at the technical prowess here, the pitch delivery and all that, but also how well she delivers the lyrical content. It's not remotely overblown or over-acted, and yet it's also sung with all the feeling and emotional power that the song requires. That said, I don't quite get one main aspect of the internet to-do about her. Everywhere I see people talking about her being "an ugly duckling," about challenging expectations because she sung gloriously despite her "bad haircut" and "frumpy dress" and so on, and how she's the epitome of "not judging a book by its cover." And then there's articles like this, too. But that's all bizarre to me. As far as I can see, the only reason to prejudge her was not her looks or her fashion sense or anything like that, but simply her age and lack of professional experience. She is 47 and has not had any sort of professional success--usually in such cases, if someone's not made it by this time, it means they simply don't have the talent for it and never will. As such, it was likely she was just deluding herself on her talents--as so many people do--and thus the skepticism and the smirking. But her looks? Since when do looks and singing talent go together, really? Pretty singers are more successful on the pop scene, sure, but I would think anyone knows that for each Britney Spears or April Lavigne or Beyonce or whoever, there's LOADS of much much better singers who aren't as marketable. But that kind of pop stardom isn't about singing so much as it is about image and entertainment. Susan Boyle wasn't trying out to be a pop princess starlet. She didn't say her dream was to be the next Christina Aguilera. She was trying out to be a singer. I can't believe anyone seriously thought that she couldn't sing because she didn't have a size 2 figure and layered hair. More than that, I don't get the "ugly duckling" stuff either. She is not ugly! She is adorable. I don't think there's anything wrong with her hair OR her dress. She looks like a normal middle-aged woman. She doesn't have "sex appeal" sure, but since when is "not sexy" equal "ugly"? Why should a woman even look like a sexpot when she's nearing 50? She looks like your sweet beloved aunt, who yes, lives with a cat named Pebbles and has a strange fondness for doilies and violets and bakes delicious muffins, but also insists on giving you fruitcake every Christmas. There's nothing wrong or unappealing about that. I agree with this. | ||||||
| Spill your mind: 4 Dry Martinis or Pour me a double |
March 31st, 2009
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| I have several favorite songs from this. One I like for its grandiose, orchestral, near-epic quality. Another I'm growing to like more and more for its simplicity, emotional restraint, and its combination of submissive abjection and bitter spite. But this one I love because of its sheer ridiculosity. Oh cry me a river, Phoebus! Of all the changes the Disney cartoon made to "Hunchback," I always felt that the whitewashing of Phoebus into a dimly amiable gallant was the most objectionable one. I like my Phoebus as a self-involved, shallow, cowardly, pathetically despicable character who always felt way too sorry for himself. I am only sorry that the official stage version makes him into some eyelined, darkly-pouty type, and that he's not nearly as given to excess as I'd want. Listening to it on the soundtrack alone, he is wonderfully over-the-top with his melodrama, all "WOE IS MEEEE!" Which is awesome considering he has the LEAST problems of anyone else in the cast. It may also be that the French word "Déchiré" has, to me, a far more drastic and turbulent connotation than the English "torn" or whatever. It should be translated as "torn apart" to get that extra soupçon of drama. This is where I mourn the French musical's attempts at respectability. I want my Phoebus to be blond with feathered 80s hair! I want his eyeliner, if he must wear it, to be PURPLE. I want him under a disco ball that will reflect off his shiny armor-shirt, and I want him tearing said shirt off his chest and lunging across the stage! At least the Russian version puts him in leather pants. | ||||||||
| Spill your mind: 4 Dry Martinis or Pour me a double |
March 19th, 2009
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| As though to tease me, the weather got briefly better today, only to turn cold again. But that is all right, because I still got a bike ride, a chat with a friend in a graveyard, and a dinner with said friend in cute local brewery in, so that was a good day. Neil Gaiman was on the Colbert Report a few days back, as most of you know by now. Colbert was unusually amicable to him--damn, that Gaiman charm is unnervingly disarming!--which made it easier on Neil of course, but he did quite well, I think. It's hard to go on that show and not come off as either dull or silly. I tweeted "Congratulations, you did not suck on Colbert!" to him, but sadly twitter was being weird that day and ate my tweet. Which is a tragic shame because he was dying for my approval, obvs. My friend portableteejay said "oh that was totally a neg. You looooove him, don't you." And okay, YES I DO, and it's already annoying enough, but what's WORSE is that watching that Colbert interview, for the first time it made me think of him as "sexy". No idea why, but I do not think I like it. I was pretty damn freaked out about that while watching, I tell you. Also, it made me wish thegreatmissjj would come over and read me his poetry in her "Neil voice" again. We like to make fun of his poetry, but the sad thing is, when read in his voice, it doesn't sound half bad. It occurs to me that maybe that's why he keeps writing it--in his head, of course, it's always in his voice, so he doesn't realize it's terrible.I have also been reading things, none of them particularly good. I'm trying to find consistently enjoyable chicklit authors for comfort reading, and so I tried out this book called A Total Waste of Makeup. Yeah... it was a sloppy mess. I think the author might have been a bit confused on the concept of "escapism." If I may clarify, it works thusly: either people enjoy reading about glamorous, beautiful people having glamorous, beautiful, tragic problems, or people enjoy reading about normal people struggling with trivial daily problems suddenly transported into extraordinary situations. It does NOT WORK to have your heroine be a glamorous, beautiful person who has an amazing job, amazing friends, and an amazing life, whine about how terrible and useless her existence is because she also doesn't happen to have a boyfriend. I mean, the heroine of this particular book? Works as a personal assistant to the fictional number-one hottest movie star, who is adorable and an absolute fantasy of a boss and LOVES her and is just all-around wonderful. I mean, so he has her come over to his place at 2 am to help him with a personal problem, but that's what being a personal assistant to someone like that is. He also listens to her problems, gives her tons of gifts and freebies, pays for her nights out when he thinks he works her too hard (ha!) and gives her plenty of free personal time. When he finds out that she's sad about not having a boyfriend, he throws a dinner party for her to introduce her to single men. When her sister gets married, he basically sponsors her entire bachelorette party. And none of this is done out of any romantic intentions towards her, but just because he's such a great guy. This heroine's best friend is an actress-model who always gets her into all the hottest nightclubs, etc, and when her evenings out aren't comped by her boss, they're usually at least partially comped by people paying for them to impress the actress-model. And she's not a shallow bimbo, but a really good, solid best friend, and there are other great, supportive friends around her too. And the heroine herself is generally agreed to be quite attractive, and has no trouble getting dates, etc--just a boyfriend. Given all that it was remarkably hard to sympathize with her whatsoever, or even take her at all seriously when she whined how she was miserable because she was bout to turn 30 and her younger sister was getting married before her and she was--oh no!--SINGLE, and thus her life sucked! I was like "shut up, I'D KILL FOR YOUR LIFE, dammit." At the very end, the book briefly started moralizing about how one needs to realize that if most of your life is perfect and just one small part isn't, you can't fixate on that, but it was far too late. And the over-arching romance plot was just so clumsily handled. It wasn't like the heroine and her OTP were held apart by any Compelling Dramatic Forces, but just by... horrible decision-making and utter inability to either read or follow up on signals, and general idiocy. It was clear they were both into each other fairly early on, and not in the "they like each other but they don't know it!" way but in the "their flirting should be obvious to anyone--and in fact ALL THEIR FRIENDS see it, so what the hell is the problem and why aren't they acting on it?" way. I mean, at the aforementioned dinner party the Movie Star boss threw to set Heroine up, despite being so very into the OTP, the heroine starts flirting with another guest right in front of the guy, and then she goes home and thinks about the OTP and wonders why they can't be together?? And then the OTP guy professes to be surprised that she's single, when Movie Star Boss explicitly announced that she was? And it only gets worse. At that point I feel, people who act like such idiots about it don't even deserve to get together. Sigh. Does anyone have recommendations for cute, good, trashy-comfort-read chicklit with appealing characters please? | ||||||||
| Spill your mind: 6 Dry Martinis or Pour me a double |
March 12th, 2009
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| Today I biked over to the library to try to figure something out about the four books they say I never returned, and I say I did. Somehow between the overnight drop box and the library itself they managed to disappear. This is bad not only because I need these books for my paper (currently on hold), but also because the library wants me to pay a $100 fee per book. I think I'm going to have to make a lot of noise about this, because I very much do not want to pay $400 for books that I did not, in fact, lose. (As I told one of the librarians: "It's not like I lost them--I knew perfectly well where they were up until the moment I left them in the drop box!") After that little exercise, I dropped by my favorite bike shop, to get some more lights for the bike, and also a bell. Initially I wanted a small quiet bell that didn't make very much noise--just to warn people ahead when they don't hear me coming--but apparently the going rates for bells are calculated as the inverse of how annoying they are. The bell of the kind I wanted cost almost twice as much as your classic tinny-loud-abrasive kind, and in the end I decided that I didn't value the comfort of passers-by quite enough to pay double. This is the shop where the guys who fix my things up for free work, so they took care of installing the gadgets and also did spot checks on various other parts of the bike. They also attempted to teach me how to ride my bike more properly, after I joked about how I bang myself up each time I ride it. I explained however, that it isn't like I don't realize I might get less bruises if I a) put up the kickstand before getting on the bike and letting my shin deal with the pedals, b) didn't jump curbs while wearing heels, c) waited until it came to a stop before jumping off it sidesaddle, d) stood it up properly before attempting to lock it to places, etc. I just choose not to because at this point I don't even notice when I scrape myself up. This isn't confined to biking--I routinely walk into walls and other things, and bang my head on all sorts of objects as I'm walking about, and whenever friends go "Oh god, are you ok?" it always confuses me for a second, because I take it so much for granted I don't even notice I've done it half the time. I suppose this is the sort of thing that causes people to worry about me. (Bike shop guy #2, following me outside, and supporting my bike: "You shouldn't really stay in this neighborhood after dark." Me: "...I'm not a three-year-old...") But I've been living on my own for a while now and have managed so far. Besides, this weird desire to look after me as though I'm a toddler seems to extend even to "bad neighborhoods." I've had drug dealers gallantly take me under their wing and assure me with sweet earnestness that I should not "be scared" (I wasn't), and tell their colleagues to "stay away from her" (unnecessary). And the last time I was in this specific neighborhood by myself after dark, all that happened was that people came up to me asking if I needed directions (I didn't) or if I wanted a coke because I looked dehydrated (this was true). Oh well, they're very sweet guys though. Then I dropped by a comics shop and while I did not buy anything, I got into rather a lovely chat with the owner about Watchmen and Alan Moore and Bill Willingham and politics. During this chat I think I managed to give the impression that I gave up on buying half the comic books I ever read (or movies I watched) because "their politics pissed me off." Mostly Iron Man though, and yeah, Bill Willingham. It made the guy laugh though, so that was good. I like for my foibles to be amusing for others. Then I called Xiommy and arranged to meet up with her at a basement show. It was nice; I especially like the second performer, Emilyn Brodsky. I bought her CD, but I think I preferred how she sounded live. Live it was just her and a ukulele, and on the CD there are other musicians, and I think a lot of the time their backing efforts are unnecessarily distracting. The first song especially, I really really loved live, but on the CD there are just too many extraneous side flourishes that detract from the core melody, and take it in directions I would not necessarily have imagined it should go. The rest are better though. I love her lyrics: the subject line is from that first song: we are failing daily, smashing up neon marquees that once, when lit, used to read: "I'm famous, I'm rich, I'm hot, I'm made of knives I'm in love, and I am all you want" I know some real good men, who think they're so much less think they're rock stars, or sex gods, or think that they're the best when I grow up I'll be a movie star who never bleeds and cannot blink remember me for who I pretended to be Ebony in bakery you have a call on line one I hope it's not about your husband and I hope it's not about your son bread helps when men leave bread helps like women's words bread helps though it sounds absurd Ebony, now please don't cry the customers won't buy tear stained cakes or brownies baked with the glory of your misery These are lyrics from different songs, but I just like the images they paint quite a lot. Then I biked home and watched "Castle," which saddened me because the leads have no chemistry. How's that for non sequitors? It's been pretty lucky that it didn't rain today though, and that it was quite warm. Hope that continues! | ||||||
| Spill your mind: Pour me a double |
March 10th, 2009
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| Finally I went to a Swing Dance club meeting tonight! Reconfirmed two things: people like my gray Old Navy dress, and I cannot dance. I mean, it was my first lesson and all, but natural grace and rhythm, I am missing them. The instructors were super nice and informative though (considering they're just students doing this on their free time), and very willing to help. Sadly I think there's no lesson next week due to spring break. Sigh. I shall never get less awful at this rate! Unlike pretty much the rest of you folk, I have neither seen nor read Watchmen yet. However, I did watch the opening credits out of curiosity, and this, in addition to reading articles on it, caused me to consider the general history of the superhero genre. As any article on the book will mention, when it was published, Watchmen "reflected contemporary anxieties" and deconstructed the basic idea/l of the superhero. As kind of summarized in the opening credits, superheroes burst out on the cultural scene in the 40s, and at first they were AWESOME. They continued to be much beloved in the 50s and became pretty much established in their classic trappings and so forth. (I'm kind of just making this all up, so feel free to correct me, but this is how it seems to me.) By the 60s, they were beginning to cross over from classic to camp and kind of cliche, but still coasting on earlier goodwill. I don't really know how the superhero developed in the 70s, if at all--that seems to me to have been a time when the medium started to expand into other genres more, beginning to try out new avenues and tentatively explore new markets. So by the 80s, the genre was ready for a reassessment, and well, Alan Moore delivered. He skewered the "glorious heroism" of the superhero, and as some other article stated, between Moore's influence and Frank Miller's, for the next full period of the 90s, "everything was dark and gritty." Everyone had all sorts of deep internal conflict, everyone was an alcoholic, and either possessed of a full array of sexual issues or going through a divorce (or both?). This made me think that the whole "dark tortured conflicted imperfect reality of the superhero" was becoming a trope in itself, and thus we were about due for the scales to swing back, and for us to have a renaissance of the superhero. And then of course, I thought, what else has this recent rush of superhero movies in the 2000s been? Superheroes have come back to the mainstream and seem to have gotten a lot more pop culture approval and appeal again. And these movies have definitely been about reinstating the superhero as admirable... with a troublesome twist. The Spiderman films have been straight forward about this, with the first few presenting an overall lovable, positive Spidey. The third one did go darker, but that's the thing... post-Moore, post-90s grit, darkness is both embraced and excused in the superhero. 2000-era movies take a character and happily illustrate all and any potentially dark and troubling traits of his character, but then wave their collective hands at it, and not even so much excuse it as go "so what?" and proceed to glorify the superhero anyway, negative traits and all. Thus we have the more violent Batman, and Iron Man, whom audiences once more think is AWESOME, even though he's an imperialist fuck. (Deciding that WMD are "bad" once they kill precious Americans as opposed to the disposable "others" does not exemplify any sort of actual reform in my view.) Moore has previously complained that the fact that some readers embraced Rorschach for precisely all the traits that Moore gave him as negative ones troubles him, and yet a wast number of online reviews I've read of Watchmen designate him the favorite character. In a post-Sin City culture, one almost wonders how Moore could expect anything else. I am not a fan of this. Makes me wonder whether the Watchmen movie somewhat subverts its own point by being made and produced at this particular cultural point.* After all, it's totally running on the steam of the general superhero kick Hollywood is on right now, and if it does well it'll just feed it all the more, and yet it should be going against it. Wonder what could (will?) serve to explode this current iteration of the superhero mythos, then. I'd love to hear the opinions of those of you who actually read comics on this. I, um, don't really know what I'm talking about whatsoever. *Heck, even the movie version of V for Vendetta kept V dark, but smoothed away the parts of the book where readers were meant to seriously and lastingly consider him morally questionable in favor of creating him as just another Dark Brooding Damaged but who-cares-he's-AWESOME "hero." | ||||||||
| Spill your mind: 8 Dry Martinis or Pour me a double |
March 4th, 2009
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I am usually not a fan of Sherlock Holmes movies, but this one is surprisingly great! It doesn't take itself very seriously, and yet it is obvious the scriptwriter was a serious fan. Thus it is both funny and accurate (as much as they go). Anna, you should watch it. I'm only sad that the full script is not available to watch. Ballet Director: Mr. Holmes, what you have seen tonight is last and positively final performance of Madame Petrova. She is retiring. Holmes: What a shame. Ballet Director: She has been dancing since she was three years old. And after all, she is now thirty-eight. Holmes: (gallantly) I must say she doesn't look thirty-eight. Ballet Director: That is because she is forty-nine. ------------------- Holmes: Madame mustn't be too hasty. She must remember I'm an Englishman. Ballet Director: So? Holmes: You know what they say about us. If there's one thing more deplorable than our cooking, it's our love-making. --------------------- Holmes: Well, this is all very flattering. But surely there are other men -- better men -- Ballet Director: To tell you truth, you were not first choice. We considered Russian writer, Tolstoi -- Holmes: That's more like it. The man's a genius. Ballet Director: Too old... Then we considered the philosopher, Nietzsche -- Holmes: Absolutely first-rate mind... Ballet Director: Too German... And we considered Tschaikowski -- Holmes: Oh, you couldn't go wrong with Tschaikowski -- Ballet Director: We could -- and we did. It was catastrophe. Holmes: Why? Ballet Director: You don't know? Because Tschaikowski -- how shall put it? Women not his glass of tea. --------------------- Ballet Director: Not free? You are a bachelor. Holmes: A bachelor -- living with another bachelor -- for the last five years. Five very happy years. Ballet Director: What is it you are trying to tell me? Holmes: The point is that Tschaikowski is not an isolated case. Ballet Director: You mean, you and Dr. Watson -- ? He is your glass of tea? Holmes: If you want to be picturesque about it. --------------------- Watson: How could you do a dastardly thing like that to me? What the deuce were you thinking of? Holmes: Watson, you're running amok. Watson: You may think this is funny, but we're both in the same boat. We must take desperate measures. We must stop this talk... (a beat, then an idea) Maybe if we got married... Holmes: Then they'd really talk. Watson: (starts pacing) Obviously, we cannot continue to live under the same roof. We must move apart. Holmes: (amused) Of course, we can still see each other clandestinely? On remote benches in Hyde Park, and in the waiting rooms of suburban railway stations... --------- Watson: Holmes, let me ask you a question -- I hope I'm not being presumptuous -- but there have been women in your life? Holmes: The answer is yes. (a relieved sigh from Watson) You're being presumptuous. (Watson's face falls.) Good night. ------------------------ It's not all about this, of course. But I love how this aspect of it is handled, for example: both accounting for the rumors and yet managing to neither confirm them (after all, Watson DID marry) nor deny them (on Holmes' part). | ||||||
| Spill your mind: 13 Dry Martinis or Pour me a double |
March 3rd, 2009
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| More reasons why we live in the sci-fi future: Checking the various social network sites I frequent, I see someone complaining about computer problems, "done all of that. i disabled the firewall, nearly broke the entire internet resetting my router, disabled SPI firewall, checked all my DNS settings a gazillion times." and it makes me think that we all speak this way nowadays. (And yet a few years back it would well have passed for nonsense-specialized-tech-talk on space opera shows.) Talking with a friend on AIM: Friend: Just at work, sayin' helloo Me: I already sent you a good morning message a bit ago! Didn't you get it? Friend: Maybe it went to my laptop at home Friend: But I am in the robot room, so I can't get to a computer atm. Me: ... I love your life. There are ROBOT ROOMS. | ||||||||
| Spill your mind: 2 Dry Martinis or Pour me a double |
House of Pomegranates
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