The World Series is over already? It feels like Opening Day was only a few weeks ago. Or maybe it's just the fact that the weather is exactly like it was on Opening Day that makes it seems so.
It's been over a year since Obama was elected and over a week since the Yankees won the World Series. Don't get me wrong, I've been a Yankees fan for years, but I'm starting to crave a little variety. It might be fun to have something new now and again.
I seem to have blinked and missed the fall. The trees are bare now, and the cold bites at my cheeks when I step outside.
On the plus side, at least I have avoided the swine flu, despite having a roommate who was diagnosed with it on my first day at a new job. I'm feeling pretty good about my immune system right now.
And now it's Veterans Day, and Thanksgiving will be here in two weeks, and Christmas only four short weeks after that. The years pass faster as I get older, and their charm begins to fade. If only we could stay young forever.
11 November 2009
03 May 2009
Everybody Chill
I find it rather amusing everybody seems to be going crazy in fear over the swine flu, especially considering that two weeks ago, nobody had ever even heard of it.
Not to make fun of a deadly illness, which I know is no laughing matter, but health and government officials seem to get pleasure out of perpetuating this wave of fear. Stay in your homes. Don't go out. Wear a face mask if you do even though we're not really sure how effective face masks are at
protecting you from this (did nobody thing that this was a great waste of energy, money, and paper?) Look at this picture from Getty Images. It's laughable.
And then, hardly a week after this deadly pandemic is on the loose and spreading internationally in a lock-up-your-children manner, Mexican officials announce that there weren't 176 deaths from the swine flu as originally recorded, but closer to 101 deaths instead. This isn't like an official accidentally counting the same person twice. Discrepancies like this remind me of a Monty Python skit. "I'm not dead! I don't want to go on the cart! I feel happyyyyy!"
Including the 23-month-old from Texas, Saturday's total death count was 102 people. It's a lot, I'll admit. But all this attention to swine flu is taking away from some of the bigger problems in Mexico and along the border, like drug violence. Over 7,000 people have died from gun-related violence in the southwest U.S. and Mexico since 2007, which makes it a lot more deadly than the swine flu by my count. from which 28 people were killed this week alone in only one city. Interesting how few newspapers and TV and radio news shows picked that up as their lead story.
Two other details about the H1N1 strain of the flu have apparently missed the notice of the public. First of all, according to the CDC's influenza page, approximately 36,000 Americans die of complications to the flu every year. That dwarfs even Mexican drug cartels. Second of all, also according to the CDC flu page, the strain of flu that was predominate in the 2006-2007 flu season was--ding ding ding! You guessed it!--H1N1. We're all going mad about a strain of flu that we all survived less than five years ago.
Remember that the next time you overhear the people in line behind you at the grocery store freaking out as they stock up on chicken soup and fluids.
Not to make fun of a deadly illness, which I know is no laughing matter, but health and government officials seem to get pleasure out of perpetuating this wave of fear. Stay in your homes. Don't go out. Wear a face mask if you do even though we're not really sure how effective face masks are at
protecting you from this (did nobody thing that this was a great waste of energy, money, and paper?) Look at this picture from Getty Images. It's laughable.And then, hardly a week after this deadly pandemic is on the loose and spreading internationally in a lock-up-your-children manner, Mexican officials announce that there weren't 176 deaths from the swine flu as originally recorded, but closer to 101 deaths instead. This isn't like an official accidentally counting the same person twice. Discrepancies like this remind me of a Monty Python skit. "I'm not dead! I don't want to go on the cart! I feel happyyyyy!"
Including the 23-month-old from Texas, Saturday's total death count was 102 people. It's a lot, I'll admit. But all this attention to swine flu is taking away from some of the bigger problems in Mexico and along the border, like drug violence. Over 7,000 people have died from gun-related violence in the southwest U.S. and Mexico since 2007, which makes it a lot more deadly than the swine flu by my count. from which 28 people were killed this week alone in only one city. Interesting how few newspapers and TV and radio news shows picked that up as their lead story.
Two other details about the H1N1 strain of the flu have apparently missed the notice of the public. First of all, according to the CDC's influenza page, approximately 36,000 Americans die of complications to the flu every year. That dwarfs even Mexican drug cartels. Second of all, also according to the CDC flu page, the strain of flu that was predominate in the 2006-2007 flu season was--ding ding ding! You guessed it!--H1N1. We're all going mad about a strain of flu that we all survived less than five years ago.
Remember that the next time you overhear the people in line behind you at the grocery store freaking out as they stock up on chicken soup and fluids.
23 April 2009
Ahh, the cheese.
For some reason I'm only tonight watching Center Stage for the very first time. Dear God, how have I lived without something quite this bad in my life?
Generally I don't go for the really truly horrible movies. But there's a bit of a scale to these things that it's important to keep in mind. There's the truly bad stuff that just makes you want to gouge your eyes out, of which Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle is, to me, the most obvious example. And then there's the kind of horrible that makes you glad you decided not to go into acting, but glad these people didn't so you can sit and point and laugh at them. And Center Stage is the best example of it that I've seen in a while. At least that stars people born in the same decade as me.
And now I feel old. I think I'll go watch An Affair To Remember again.
Generally I don't go for the really truly horrible movies. But there's a bit of a scale to these things that it's important to keep in mind. There's the truly bad stuff that just makes you want to gouge your eyes out, of which Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle is, to me, the most obvious example. And then there's the kind of horrible that makes you glad you decided not to go into acting, but glad these people didn't so you can sit and point and laugh at them. And Center Stage is the best example of it that I've seen in a while. At least that stars people born in the same decade as me.
And now I feel old. I think I'll go watch An Affair To Remember again.
22 April 2009
A Small Study of Gender in Modern Times
Over the weekend I had brunch with an old family friend. This man and his wife had been my parents' next door neighbors when I was born. I was my parent's first child; this other couple, too, had a child at around the same time I was born, only it was their fourth. Shortly thereafter they moved to the other side of the country and morphed into that ambiguous sort of character of whom your memories are filled entirely by stories relayed and are not at all based in reality, especially when you don't have even a picture to help shape their forms in your mind.
These former neighbors of ours stayed this way in my mind, with vague rumblings of 'Young Tommy's playing football at such a school' and so forth, for years. The most significant piece of news that stayed in my mind was that the mother fought breast cancer for more than ten years. So they remained until I applied to a college in their area, 3,000 miles away, and my mother and I decided to go take a tour of the school and see if I could get an admissions interview. My mother also took the opportunity to arrange dinner with our neighbors, the first time either of us would be seeing them in over ten years. Eventually I decided to attend school there, and my father got to repeat the experience of catching up with two of the most amiable and kind-hearted people you'd ever hope to meet. Their youngest, too, was attending school in a neighboring state, while the oldest had gotten married and would soon be a new father. Before I left Philadelphia, another of their children married and a few more grandchildren were born.
The matriarch of the family passed away last year after more than 15 years of fighting breast cancer. I cried when I heard the news. Rarely have I seen two people who looked more obviously like they were on their first date, even after 30 years of marriage. He unabashedly called her "babe" as if they were still 20 (in comparison, I've never heard my parents refer to each other as anything more endearing than "honey" or "dear," and always with a rather mocking smile and tone of voice, as if they can't believe they're really being that corny). I called him immediately to offer my condolences, which is always a difficult conversation; words in such a situation are empty enough even from the same room, but over the phone it's even worse because of the human race's crushing impulse to always fill the empty space with words, even when just one more word could tip either party over the edge and into the vacuity of tears and devastation. I've been on both sides of conversations like this. I'm still trying to decide which side I like the least.
Eventually I moved back down to the mid-Atlantic area. I've gone to Philadelphia on brief visits a few times, and eventually managed to schedule a brunch date with this man who, along with his wife, were so kind to me, like surrogate parents, when I was alone and 17 and 3,000 miles from everyone and everything I knew. I learned that yet another child was married, that two more grandchildren had been born, and another one on the way, for a total of seven. Seven! I could hardly believe it. He also gave me some interesting tidbits about his golfing. Most of it went over my head, I'll admit, but it being so soon after the Masters, I'd like to think that I retained at least some of it.
On Monday my mother called to ask how brunch had gone. It had been the first time any of my family had seen him since his wife had died. I told her about the seven grandchildren. Her reaction was rather like mine. "Wow! Seven grandchildren! Wow."
My parents, you must understand, have never been the sort to bemoan the fact that they have no grandchildren. I think sometimes that my mother wouldn't mind having a little baby to fuss over, but then it sort of dawns on her that in order to have grandchildren, one of her kids would have to either pregnant or get somebody else pregnant. And then she changes her mind and decides that things are quite fine the way they are. And I think my dad still fancies himself, at least in some corner of his mind, yet somewhere in his mid 30s. The scarcely receded hairline and roughly the same knee pain from two decades ago do nothing to dissuade him from this illusion. Last year on his birthday when I pointed out to him that he was now the same age as my grandmother had been when I was born, he was not grateful to me for the revelation (I got a good laugh, though). In any case, if you asked him, my guess is that he'd say he's too young for grandchildren.
At least, I used to think so. After I hung up with my mom, I called my father to relay the message about golfing. Something about drivers and Cobra, but it all sounds to me a bit more like your average Congress meeting these days than a golfing demonstration. In any case, after the golfing conversation was over, my dad naturally asked after Tom the man himself. I told him about the growing numbers of the family.
"Seven grandkids. Wow," he said (can you tell they've been married for over 30 years?) And then after a pensive moment he said, "You know, he's the same age as me."
I countered by pointing out that Tom's oldest child is ten years older than I am. Obviously he'd gotten started a lot earlier than my dad did.
These former neighbors of ours stayed this way in my mind, with vague rumblings of 'Young Tommy's playing football at such a school' and so forth, for years. The most significant piece of news that stayed in my mind was that the mother fought breast cancer for more than ten years. So they remained until I applied to a college in their area, 3,000 miles away, and my mother and I decided to go take a tour of the school and see if I could get an admissions interview. My mother also took the opportunity to arrange dinner with our neighbors, the first time either of us would be seeing them in over ten years. Eventually I decided to attend school there, and my father got to repeat the experience of catching up with two of the most amiable and kind-hearted people you'd ever hope to meet. Their youngest, too, was attending school in a neighboring state, while the oldest had gotten married and would soon be a new father. Before I left Philadelphia, another of their children married and a few more grandchildren were born.
The matriarch of the family passed away last year after more than 15 years of fighting breast cancer. I cried when I heard the news. Rarely have I seen two people who looked more obviously like they were on their first date, even after 30 years of marriage. He unabashedly called her "babe" as if they were still 20 (in comparison, I've never heard my parents refer to each other as anything more endearing than "honey" or "dear," and always with a rather mocking smile and tone of voice, as if they can't believe they're really being that corny). I called him immediately to offer my condolences, which is always a difficult conversation; words in such a situation are empty enough even from the same room, but over the phone it's even worse because of the human race's crushing impulse to always fill the empty space with words, even when just one more word could tip either party over the edge and into the vacuity of tears and devastation. I've been on both sides of conversations like this. I'm still trying to decide which side I like the least.
Eventually I moved back down to the mid-Atlantic area. I've gone to Philadelphia on brief visits a few times, and eventually managed to schedule a brunch date with this man who, along with his wife, were so kind to me, like surrogate parents, when I was alone and 17 and 3,000 miles from everyone and everything I knew. I learned that yet another child was married, that two more grandchildren had been born, and another one on the way, for a total of seven. Seven! I could hardly believe it. He also gave me some interesting tidbits about his golfing. Most of it went over my head, I'll admit, but it being so soon after the Masters, I'd like to think that I retained at least some of it.
On Monday my mother called to ask how brunch had gone. It had been the first time any of my family had seen him since his wife had died. I told her about the seven grandchildren. Her reaction was rather like mine. "Wow! Seven grandchildren! Wow."
My parents, you must understand, have never been the sort to bemoan the fact that they have no grandchildren. I think sometimes that my mother wouldn't mind having a little baby to fuss over, but then it sort of dawns on her that in order to have grandchildren, one of her kids would have to either pregnant or get somebody else pregnant. And then she changes her mind and decides that things are quite fine the way they are. And I think my dad still fancies himself, at least in some corner of his mind, yet somewhere in his mid 30s. The scarcely receded hairline and roughly the same knee pain from two decades ago do nothing to dissuade him from this illusion. Last year on his birthday when I pointed out to him that he was now the same age as my grandmother had been when I was born, he was not grateful to me for the revelation (I got a good laugh, though). In any case, if you asked him, my guess is that he'd say he's too young for grandchildren.
At least, I used to think so. After I hung up with my mom, I called my father to relay the message about golfing. Something about drivers and Cobra, but it all sounds to me a bit more like your average Congress meeting these days than a golfing demonstration. In any case, after the golfing conversation was over, my dad naturally asked after Tom the man himself. I told him about the growing numbers of the family.
"Seven grandkids. Wow," he said (can you tell they've been married for over 30 years?) And then after a pensive moment he said, "You know, he's the same age as me."
I countered by pointing out that Tom's oldest child is ten years older than I am. Obviously he'd gotten started a lot earlier than my dad did.
21 April 2009
Taking Comfort in the Familiar
I know it's cliched, I know it's the epitome of corny, I know it's so melodramatic that it serves as the basis for two more movies, and who knows how many references within movies (even I don't dare try to calculate that one), but I simply love 'An Affair To Remember.' I love the elegance of Deborah Kerr, who sits and stands so straight--her grandmother used to make her lie on the floor for hours to ensure good posture--yet always seems so comfortable; and of Cary Grant, who manages to look elegant even when he's doing somersaults and cartwheels (if you haven't seen 'Holiday' and 'Monkey Business,' rent them immediately, if only for the acrobatics). The two of them have such excellent chemistry in this film, easily playing off of each other's quick and easy conversation without missing a beat. And I have a soft spot for the back story, too. The writer and director, Leo McCarey, had originally made the film 'Love Affair' with Irene Dunne and Charles Boyer, one of the few silent film stars to successfully transition into talkies; and while the script is nearly identical to 'Remember,' and the actors performed well, they can barely capture the ghost of the charm of Grant and Kerr.
Here's a link to a YouTube video with some of my favorite moments from 'An Affair To Remember.' Try to ignore the music, since it just doesn't seem to fit, but don't blink lest you miss a moment of the gloriously understated interactions of these two splendid actors.
Here's a link to a YouTube video with some of my favorite moments from 'An Affair To Remember.' Try to ignore the music, since it just doesn't seem to fit, but don't blink lest you miss a moment of the gloriously understated interactions of these two splendid actors.
03 April 2009
Ahh, life.
It's amazing how quickly life gets away from you. You set yourself a sack of goals - "This week I will finish reading that book I started two months ago," "I will finally go browsing at Blue Mercury (but not buy anything," "I will call that friend of mine I haven't seen since Christmas," "I will watch that Netflix movie that's been sitting around for a month." All these things you say, and you honestly do intend to follow through with them. But life gets away from you. The daily musts of the world - work, bill paying, groceries, eating those strawberries in the fridge before they go bad - take up so much energy that you forget to complete the goals you set for yourself, whether they be obligations or indulgences. It's sad, but true.
I find lately that trying to fit in these things is almost as energy-consuming as getting up in time to catch the bus for work, but generally they seem to have rewards that are just as fulfilling as earning a steady paycheck (which I, along with so many others this past year, have come to see as a privilege rather than a right, or a chore.) I force myself to actually take the full hour I'm allotted for lunch (or maybe closer to 45 minutes of it) and not just eat, but read at my desk from that book I should have finished by now. I save Blue Mercury field trips for Fridays as to make them extra special--and yes, I'll admit, I did make purchases - but I waited until I ran out of moisturizer so that I bought things I actually needed. I make sure that my roommate and I do watch one of the Netflix movies I've rented (why, oh why didn't Thandie Newton get an Oscar nod for her portrayal of Condie Rice in 'W.'? It's a shame, I tell you, a damn shame ... though perhaps, upon reviewing her performance in 'The Truth About Charlie' in which she simply butchered the role originally played to perfection by Audrey Hepburn, it's only fair.) And after that's done, before I get ready for my nightly routine, I actually do pull my phone out and call that friend of mine from Christmas.
These things aren't easy to remember; it takes effort and energy to do so, and to follow through on them: It takes so much energy, in fact, that my laundry basket is overflowing, and the strawberries in the fridge have actually started to turn on me, and the dog's hair is beginning to clump together in the corners of my bedroom (though the hallway is clean of them - took care of that last weekend.) But the way I see it, I doubt that I'll sit on my deathbed wishing that I'd done laundry more in my 20's, or cleaned up more dog hair in my life. Watching movies that mock George Bush, however, will probably still make me smile.
I find lately that trying to fit in these things is almost as energy-consuming as getting up in time to catch the bus for work, but generally they seem to have rewards that are just as fulfilling as earning a steady paycheck (which I, along with so many others this past year, have come to see as a privilege rather than a right, or a chore.) I force myself to actually take the full hour I'm allotted for lunch (or maybe closer to 45 minutes of it) and not just eat, but read at my desk from that book I should have finished by now. I save Blue Mercury field trips for Fridays as to make them extra special--and yes, I'll admit, I did make purchases - but I waited until I ran out of moisturizer so that I bought things I actually needed. I make sure that my roommate and I do watch one of the Netflix movies I've rented (why, oh why didn't Thandie Newton get an Oscar nod for her portrayal of Condie Rice in 'W.'? It's a shame, I tell you, a damn shame ... though perhaps, upon reviewing her performance in 'The Truth About Charlie' in which she simply butchered the role originally played to perfection by Audrey Hepburn, it's only fair.) And after that's done, before I get ready for my nightly routine, I actually do pull my phone out and call that friend of mine from Christmas.
These things aren't easy to remember; it takes effort and energy to do so, and to follow through on them: It takes so much energy, in fact, that my laundry basket is overflowing, and the strawberries in the fridge have actually started to turn on me, and the dog's hair is beginning to clump together in the corners of my bedroom (though the hallway is clean of them - took care of that last weekend.) But the way I see it, I doubt that I'll sit on my deathbed wishing that I'd done laundry more in my 20's, or cleaned up more dog hair in my life. Watching movies that mock George Bush, however, will probably still make me smile.
11 February 2009
Reeeecap!
Good lord, has it really been over two months? You've got to love the way the time just flies by between Thanksgiving and Single's Awareness Day ... oops, I mean Valentine's Day. Especially when the interim involves, besides the usual holiday festivities, the inauguration of the first African American president in the country.
I spent Inauguration Week crashing on a couch in Georgetown. I ended up with no tickets to the main event (I know, cry your tears for me) but that just meant that I got to sit around and sleep in while the rest of the town was freezing in the 20 degree weather. But don't think I got away completely hassle-free; trying to make my train meant that I had to spend more than one hour in a taxi trying to get from Georgetown University to Union Station. That's about five miles.
Yeah. An hour.
On the other hand, and to quote Helen Fielding, the wilderness years are over! I have employment again! And it pays and everything. And I've gotten back to doing (some) regular blogging over at GameFace, which, by the way, is also a great book that everybody should buy, especially women who want to prove that yes, we CAN follow sports just as well as any guy.
Only a part of what's great about employment is that it actually gets you out of the house. And into the city. I'm daily exploring a part of town that I've only ever looked at through a car window. And, I'll admit, I have a certain glee when I go to Panera not to serve annoying customers, but to be an annoying customer. Ahh, order is restored to the universe.
Okay, I try not to be too annoying. Most days. But I do flirt with the sandwich line guys in order to get a second piece of bread.
Also, it's nice to know that at the end of the day I've accomplished more than watching endless episodes of 'West Wing' or 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer.' Because good as those shows were, staples of my youth and all that, it's not quite the same as "I contributed to the welfare of the nation today." And plus, you just feel better about yourself when you know that you're more than a statistic. I'm feeling so good about myself, I've hardly even noticed that Valentine's Day is almost here. Does it seem to anybody else that the recession (isn't it nice that Bush finally decided to start calling a spade a spade?) has put a major damper on the usual shmoozy love-fest that generally is February 14? Other than two tables (spread very far apart) at the local Barnes & Noble, there's been a noticeable lack of cheesy pink and red heart-shaped balloons and stickers in every window. Ironically, the lack of focus on couple-y love has put me into a more generous and giving mood for Valentine's Day. I want to buy a big box of chocolates for my sister (and maybe even some small ones for her roommates.) I want to cook dinner for my housemate. If the nice weather keeps up, I might even be tempted into letting the dog take me for a walk.
Yes, I know it's supposed to be the other way around, but you haven't seen this dog. Any illusion that I'd be the one in charge of this walk would be pure fantasy.
Maybe this holiday for couple-y lovers has led us all to believe that love has to look a certain way, has to be a certain thing. When we don't have that, it leaves us feeling inadequate and like there's no place for us in this holiday. But we forget that there are so many different kinds of love besides romantic. There's love of your family, love of your friends, love of the people who fill up your day (if you're me, this especially pertains to the guy who gives me coffee every day.) And perhaps the easiest and most overlooked, particularly on Valentine's Day, is love of yourself. No smut intended or required. You drink one more glass of wine. You can eat another piece of cheesecake. Run a bath and fill it with the flower petals from the bottom of the box - go ask your local florist, they'll give 'em to you. Buy tickets to something, a sporting event or a local community thing that you'd usually just skip in favor of cable TV. Do something special for yourself, something you wouldn't normally do. And prove the card companies wrong about this holiday.
Hey, the rest of the world is falling apart. Why should Valentine's Day be an exception?
I spent Inauguration Week crashing on a couch in Georgetown. I ended up with no tickets to the main event (I know, cry your tears for me) but that just meant that I got to sit around and sleep in while the rest of the town was freezing in the 20 degree weather. But don't think I got away completely hassle-free; trying to make my train meant that I had to spend more than one hour in a taxi trying to get from Georgetown University to Union Station. That's about five miles.
Yeah. An hour.
On the other hand, and to quote Helen Fielding, the wilderness years are over! I have employment again! And it pays and everything. And I've gotten back to doing (some) regular blogging over at GameFace, which, by the way, is also a great book that everybody should buy, especially women who want to prove that yes, we CAN follow sports just as well as any guy.
Only a part of what's great about employment is that it actually gets you out of the house. And into the city. I'm daily exploring a part of town that I've only ever looked at through a car window. And, I'll admit, I have a certain glee when I go to Panera not to serve annoying customers, but to be an annoying customer. Ahh, order is restored to the universe.
Okay, I try not to be too annoying. Most days. But I do flirt with the sandwich line guys in order to get a second piece of bread.
Also, it's nice to know that at the end of the day I've accomplished more than watching endless episodes of 'West Wing' or 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer.' Because good as those shows were, staples of my youth and all that, it's not quite the same as "I contributed to the welfare of the nation today." And plus, you just feel better about yourself when you know that you're more than a statistic. I'm feeling so good about myself, I've hardly even noticed that Valentine's Day is almost here. Does it seem to anybody else that the recession (isn't it nice that Bush finally decided to start calling a spade a spade?) has put a major damper on the usual shmoozy love-fest that generally is February 14? Other than two tables (spread very far apart) at the local Barnes & Noble, there's been a noticeable lack of cheesy pink and red heart-shaped balloons and stickers in every window. Ironically, the lack of focus on couple-y love has put me into a more generous and giving mood for Valentine's Day. I want to buy a big box of chocolates for my sister (and maybe even some small ones for her roommates.) I want to cook dinner for my housemate. If the nice weather keeps up, I might even be tempted into letting the dog take me for a walk.
Yes, I know it's supposed to be the other way around, but you haven't seen this dog. Any illusion that I'd be the one in charge of this walk would be pure fantasy.
Maybe this holiday for couple-y lovers has led us all to believe that love has to look a certain way, has to be a certain thing. When we don't have that, it leaves us feeling inadequate and like there's no place for us in this holiday. But we forget that there are so many different kinds of love besides romantic. There's love of your family, love of your friends, love of the people who fill up your day (if you're me, this especially pertains to the guy who gives me coffee every day.) And perhaps the easiest and most overlooked, particularly on Valentine's Day, is love of yourself. No smut intended or required. You drink one more glass of wine. You can eat another piece of cheesecake. Run a bath and fill it with the flower petals from the bottom of the box - go ask your local florist, they'll give 'em to you. Buy tickets to something, a sporting event or a local community thing that you'd usually just skip in favor of cable TV. Do something special for yourself, something you wouldn't normally do. And prove the card companies wrong about this holiday.
Hey, the rest of the world is falling apart. Why should Valentine's Day be an exception?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
