I was really excited when GMon'y picked New York City for this week's topic. It's the birthplace of myself and my brother, the first place my parents lived after they got married, the place I went to college, the place where I had my first job and apartment, and the place I became the fully realized Girl Friday I am today. Whenever I see images of New York on TV, I feel instantly homesick. I simply love the place. Yet lately, I have been telling all of my close friends and family that I would never live there again. Initially I thought I would write this entry to explain that although I love New York dearly, there are so many reasons I need to leave it behind. But after reading posts by my fellow blogettes, I feel the need to revisit a few of the many reasons I do heart New York.
As Girl Wednesday mentioned, there are a lot of jobs available in New York. This is largely because most professional industries are based in New York. This situation lends itself to a cutthroat attitude that some may find off-putting, but I like that "in it to win it" quality. I have lived in many different parts part of the country; I can tell you that the New York workplace has a sense of urgency that is unrivaled. Now, it's not nice when people are jerks, of course; and many New Yorkers probably take it too far. But I like being held responsible for my performance, for feeling I have no choice but to be the best. Because the moment I don't, there is a young, eager college grad waiting right behind me. I haven't felt that way the other cities I've worked in, and I have missed it.
Another thing I love about New York that I have to say, I don't think about very often, is its history. One can't even begin to list all of the important things that have happened on that tiny island. And when you live there, you are a part of it. Walking by landmarks, sitting on benches, even eating at restaurants, you are experiencing the past, every single day. In that sense, there's not really another American city like it. Right or wrong, you feel incredibly significant in New York, because you are around so much that is significant.
Which brings me to my last point. One day, when I was 17 or 18, I was walking down the street in lower Manhattan. There was a young boy who looked to be about seven years old, vigorously pushing a stroller with a baby in it down the street. His mother was running alongside him, attempting to rein him in. He didn't want to give up the stroller. He exclaimed, "You never let me push it!" His mother said, calmly, "You've pushed it lots of times." He grew frustrated and replied, "Ugh-- that was just the lobby. I mean, out here in the world." I really enjoyed witnessing this encounter. I knew exactly what he meant. Among the bustle of people and things on Fifth Avenue, you really feel like you are out in the world. Have you ever felt restless? Like you were missing something? In New York, you don't. And there are some people who really like that feeling. For others, they like it for a certain time in their lives, as I did in my early adulthood. Daily life can be tough and it isn't always pretty, but there is still something undeniably great about living in New York. I'm usually not a fan of any philosophy that dictates that you need to have experienced a situation firsthand to appreciate it, but I think that is the case with New York City. It's easy to see that it can be dirty, unsafe, crowded and hectic. Its magic is harder to articulate.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Thursday, January 8, 2009
NYC
We are all writing about NYC this week. And, although I know many of my fellow blogettes are from the Big Apple and have fond memories and experiences, I have to say that I align my view more with GTuesday and perhaps my views extend even further. Although visiting New York City has been and can be a lot of fun I remember being completely shocked last year when I visited NYC for the first time since I was a child.
When you don’t live on the East Coast, typically the TV images you see of NYC usually involve New Years, TRL, Macy’s Parade, Sex in the City, etc. Sometimes you might see a movie that is based in New York or has a scene or two in the city. Things that come to mind are streets full of taxis, big crowds swarming across intersections, and very distinct areas of the city.
Last year I visited New York for the first time in over fifteen years. I was really quite shocked at my visit. One of the things that stuck out vividly was all the trash on the streets and the strange smell of the city. I had a hard time getting past this. Do people have such little regard for their city that they see trash everywhere and don’t do anything about it? Or worse yet, are the trash-throwing culprits? I also would have a very hard time living in New York and not help but struggle knowing you were only a number among the millions of people who live there.
My idea of a great quality of life is spending time with my family when I get home from work, not having to battle traffic for hours or take long commutes to get home. My primary focus in life isn’t my career but rather making an impact and difference with the people whom I love most. I would rather give up a career move to improve the relationships with my family. I don’t care much about celebrity gossip or seeing famous people strolling about; I would rather focus my time and energy on the people who matter the most to me. I love the fact that we didn’t have to lock our doors when we were growing up and my parents felt safe when I would ride my bike around my neighborhoods. I enjoy fishing, hiking, camping, watching the stars from your backyard at night – none of this would be possible if you lived in the city. I have a hard time imagining I could really enjoy raising a family in a large city.
I don’t mean to be critical of other people’s decision to live in NYC, it is just not the lifestyle I would love to live. With all this being said, my impression is simply that – an impression. I am sure that if I had grown up in NYC my experiences would be completely different than the limited number of impressions I have had to the city. Reading GWednesday’s blog reminded of all the fantastic cultural experiences I didn’t have growing up in a small town. My interests and experiences align much closer to outdoor activities than cultural ones. So for now, I will leave the city life for others. I am happy and content being a 'country girl'. :)
When you don’t live on the East Coast, typically the TV images you see of NYC usually involve New Years, TRL, Macy’s Parade, Sex in the City, etc. Sometimes you might see a movie that is based in New York or has a scene or two in the city. Things that come to mind are streets full of taxis, big crowds swarming across intersections, and very distinct areas of the city.
Last year I visited New York for the first time in over fifteen years. I was really quite shocked at my visit. One of the things that stuck out vividly was all the trash on the streets and the strange smell of the city. I had a hard time getting past this. Do people have such little regard for their city that they see trash everywhere and don’t do anything about it? Or worse yet, are the trash-throwing culprits? I also would have a very hard time living in New York and not help but struggle knowing you were only a number among the millions of people who live there.
My idea of a great quality of life is spending time with my family when I get home from work, not having to battle traffic for hours or take long commutes to get home. My primary focus in life isn’t my career but rather making an impact and difference with the people whom I love most. I would rather give up a career move to improve the relationships with my family. I don’t care much about celebrity gossip or seeing famous people strolling about; I would rather focus my time and energy on the people who matter the most to me. I love the fact that we didn’t have to lock our doors when we were growing up and my parents felt safe when I would ride my bike around my neighborhoods. I enjoy fishing, hiking, camping, watching the stars from your backyard at night – none of this would be possible if you lived in the city. I have a hard time imagining I could really enjoy raising a family in a large city.
I don’t mean to be critical of other people’s decision to live in NYC, it is just not the lifestyle I would love to live. With all this being said, my impression is simply that – an impression. I am sure that if I had grown up in NYC my experiences would be completely different than the limited number of impressions I have had to the city. Reading GWednesday’s blog reminded of all the fantastic cultural experiences I didn’t have growing up in a small town. My interests and experiences align much closer to outdoor activities than cultural ones. So for now, I will leave the city life for others. I am happy and content being a 'country girl'. :)
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
They Say the Neon Lights Are Bright
I heard this guy on his cell phone, on the M5 bus tonight:
"You know how when you get home you just want to chill? Well I get home and my mom is like, 'He been here all day.' I'm like, 'That motha-fucking nigga, he got to learn responsibility.' He been crashing here and crashing there since 1997 word up!"
Ahhh.. Inhale. Exhale. I was on my way home from yoga. The bus swerved. An old man wearing an ascot, leaning on a titanium walker tripped sideways. The loud-talking bus rider went on,
"Bro, I don't know if it's genetics or what, but I don't let no one sleep in my bed. I'm muscular you know so I take up most the space! But when I sleep with shorty yo, we fit just fine--HAAAA MARCUS BRO!!! No but for real bro I got to get this cock sucker out of my apartment."
The very old lady behind me was whispering, "Shut the fuck up" over and over.
I'm not sure if this kind of thing (you know, these typical "real," New Yorkey moments that Robert DeNiro's always alluding to in interviews and American Express commercials) is a good thing or a bad thing. You can't go on with your life sheltered from all grit, can you? Admittedly, I could have done without this lyrical gangster's discourse.
But then again, I could do without most things.
I could do without coming home and knowing that if my neighbor went away and didn't take her garbage out then I probably have one of those sick, six-inch roaches with twitchy antennas waiting for me. (Those things, I swear they stare right back at me and a mini-tumbleweed rolls between us). I could do without smelling cigarette smoke and curry chicken whenever the person upstairs has a craving.
Everyone on my floor can hear my toilet flush.
Oh, and I could do without the constant subway delays and the even worse- ambiguous "earlier incident" announcements that purport to explain it. On rainy days the subway tracks get too wet; in the summer they spark and start fires. On foggy days the buses never show up.
And then they hike the fares and raise your rent and ask you to work without benefits. And soon you've been hand-to-mouth for as long as you can remember.
So you take a big-girl breath and try to walk wherever you need to go. On the way you pass a discarded mattress on the sidewalk, wrapped in plastic with duct tape and a sign that reads "BED BUGS." So you cross the street, but before you get to the other side you are ankle-deep in sludge. Bye-bye new suede shoes.
And then you see a teenager getting arrested before 10AM.
And you get the wind knocked out of you when the crowd around the Rockefeller Christmas tree gets too thick to pass through.
And then you see a woman who's fallen, lying on the ground and among the crowd around her is a passerby who's stretching to take her picture with his camera phone. And that is not the first time I've seen that happen, by the way.
Want to do something in NYC? Allot 45 minutes, minimum. Doesn't matter where you're going. Grocery shopping? The simple act so simple it's practically a God-given right-- of purchasing food for the intent of survival? Good luck. My neighborhood grocery store is a ground zero of guerrilla warfare. I do not know where these old Upper West-Side ditties learned their dirty-fighting tricks. They will use anything as a weapon- a sharp-edged crate of clementines can get you to the front of the miserable 8-items-or-less lane. Yup, you gotta be quick in the Big Apple.
Above the grocery store is a dance studio. "Five six seven eight!" Da-da-da-da-- tap tap! It's the beginning bars of "God I Hope I Get It" from "A Chorus Line"! My heart races for a second-- a play about resumes. Could anything be more New York?
What kind of city thrives on the delicate and unlikely dreams of so many starry-eyed kids anyway? I haven't lived here long enough to know the odds of "making it." But I know they're slim. And if you leave for a different town, are you giving up on your dreams? ...The glitter rubs right off and you're nowhere....
Now, I can knock it all I want, but when I do a career search for various cities, I have to say, New York City by far has the most open positions. At least in my field. And it's not just that. It's not just that there are jobs here, it's that everyone wants them. If you're working, you're doing a job that a dozen other people would die to do. People here push forward and scratch for more. Your career is the pulse of your day. It sends you out into the twists of the transportation system like a little oxygen bubble coursing a vein. People are doing what they love, or are striving to, because they wouldn't be living in this God-awful, uncomfortable city just to pass time and spend money. People come here because of work. Every day on the street, on the trains, in the halls, in the elevators-- everyone is reaching and pushing to move around.
We're so close to where we want to be, we can taste it.
...And there are perks. You can get a manicure at 10PM. You can grill Korean beef strips and within an hour slurp Vietnamese cow-cartilage soup. You can walk under the giant snowflake-shaped Christmas lights on Mulberry Street and be serenaded by the maitre d' of the Italian restaurants. You can sample red-bean cookie shaped desserts in Chinatown (Girl Friday didn't like those so much, but I still dream of it).
If you go to an amped-up movie premier (i.e., "X-Men") you can wait for hours with hundreds of other crazies and then race into the theater when they swing open the doors so that you and all your friends can sit together-- this might involve running up the down escalator.
You can walk for hours and never really see a deserted street. You will see trees and cobblestones and art deco designs on old brownstone fronts. You could get lost in Central Park or you could see the stunning red, orange and yellow autumn leaves that cover the ground in Washington Square.
And if you get your heel stuck in a subway grate, it's possible an old man will stop walking to grab your ankle and pull you out without even giving it a second thought.
Or if you fall as the city bus takes a sharp turn, an old lady might catch you- rather heroically- and then say, "Now you've got my back."
Or you can kiss a boy on the street and maybe- just maybe- a jolly, red-faced young man might come up and wrap his arms around you both and proclaim: "This is love! I know it when I see it!"
Have I seen a roach on a subway car? Yes. Was my NYU friends' favorite past-time called "Jump Rat Alley," which involved going to a street in Chinatown where hundreds of rats were known to scurry between a dumpster and a pile of garbage bags all night long and trying to jump over the vile creatures without any of them touching their feet? Shamefully, yes. Have I gotten stuck on the subway, in between stops for longer than two hours while sweat from the forehead of the man next to me dripped on me? Yes, it's all true.
BUT. Have I seen Britney Spears in my neighborhood Sephora testing mascaras? Yes!
Maybe one of my favorite movies of all time, "Working Girl," left such a huge impression on me as a child. The idea that a dopey girl from Staten Island with a bad perm can make it if she worked hard enough-- only in New York.
Or maybe I've been permanently charmed by: "Citizen Kane" or "Annie Hall" or "Miracle on 34th Street" or "Rear Window" or "Breakfast at Tiffany's" or "Funny Girl" or "Midnight Cowboy" or "The French Connection" or "The Way We Were" or "Three Days of the Condor" or "Saturday Night Fever" or "All That Jazz" or "Fame" or "Escape from New York" or "Trading Places" or "Ghostbusters" or "Wall Street" or "Big" or "Bright Lights, Big City" or "Green Card" or "Goodfellas" or "Six Degrees of Separation" or "The Family Man" or "Someone Like You" or "American Gangster" or "Reign Over Me."
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
NY, NY
In an effort to shake things up on this blog; we're each addressing different perspectives and commentaries on the same topic each week.With this week's focus on the big apple, I find myself feeling similarto how I do about the city as a whole- intimidated. I do not share the same affection for the city as my friends. I tend to shy away from theglitz and fashion and 4 am last calls in favor of jeans, polo shirts,and on demand movies. I watched last week's premiere of mtv's the city (after all, bad tv is my true weakness), but I still could never envision actually calling manhattan home.
In some ways, I am fascinated by the glitz and glam; but I know thatit is not for me. My own big city seems itself too cold and urban, andwe don't even have sky scrapers. I like going home to tree linedstreets and my view of the neighborhood park. I like being able todrive into the countryside in under 30 minutes, and I like being closeto home. I like running into classmates on the street corner, and I like feeling as though this city of hundreds of thousands is just assmall as my own hometown. I like relatively clean public transportation, and I like that I didn't see any rats until I'd livedhere well over a year.
I am intimidated by rake thin models and the anonymity of the place.The noise and the construction are too much to counter thesurprisingly good tap water. The sheer volume of people and the fact that you can't really hesitate when walking down the sidewalk lest yoube plowed down by the pedestrian onslaught. I
couldn't do it; it is not for me. And the fact that others not only put up with it, but actually embrace it, fascinates me. So I will leave it to my other lovely bloggers to explain the joys ofthe place; I am still too busy on my quest to understand it.
In some ways, I am fascinated by the glitz and glam; but I know thatit is not for me. My own big city seems itself too cold and urban, andwe don't even have sky scrapers. I like going home to tree linedstreets and my view of the neighborhood park. I like being able todrive into the countryside in under 30 minutes, and I like being closeto home. I like running into classmates on the street corner, and I like feeling as though this city of hundreds of thousands is just assmall as my own hometown. I like relatively clean public transportation, and I like that I didn't see any rats until I'd livedhere well over a year.
I am intimidated by rake thin models and the anonymity of the place.The noise and the construction are too much to counter thesurprisingly good tap water. The sheer volume of people and the fact that you can't really hesitate when walking down the sidewalk lest yoube plowed down by the pedestrian onslaught. I
couldn't do it; it is not for me. And the fact that others not only put up with it, but actually embrace it, fascinates me. So I will leave it to my other lovely bloggers to explain the joys ofthe place; I am still too busy on my quest to understand it.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Ben? Or Noel? Or Neither?!
I have a new best gal pal. And if she didn’t exist only in my TV, she would probably accuse me of stalking her. Because I would totally move to New York City just to hang out with her and her friends. They seem like fun. I could be there having Thanksgiving dinner with them, road-tripping across the country, and drinking coffee at Dean and Deluca. They seem to be having a great time and the only thing missing is me! Of course besides selling my house, quitting my job, and packing up my things to head to the land of Yankees (literal and Southernly figurative), I would also have to fire up the time machine. And set it for 1998.
I am completely (and very newly, and therefore sadly) obsessed with the show Felicity. Where the hell was this show when I was in college? Or maybe where the hell was I? It seemed like everyone I knew was watching X-Files or ER or both. The former of which, despite being extremely nerdy in college, I expressed no interest in. What was the deal with the smoking man? And why didn’t Mulder and Scully just get it over with? Seriously. But now, I know what I should have been doing instead of studying and pining for my lab partner. Watching this freakin awesome show.
It’s embarrassing to be closing in on the big 3-0 and be completely mesmerized by the doings of a scrawny, crazy, curly haired college girl. But I totally am. I have the biggest girl crush on Keri Russell. And I am not afraid to say that she should be with Noel. Not Ben. NOEL. And she never should have slept with that art student, although he was pretty hot, and I probably would have….But I do concede that it’s hard to say what should happen being that I am only as far as Season 2, Disc 2. I had to take a break from Netflixing them over the holidays since the family wanted me to get some movies. Movies?! How can they? Don’t they know I’ve been netflixing episodes at a rate of 2 per week for the last month. You have no idea how hard it is to wait three days for a disc (it’s a little remote here and the turnaround time is crap) only to stay up until midnight on a Tuesday watching 8 episodes just so I can return both discs and get two new ones! Sad I know.
Anyway, I had to spend my holidays with the likes of Juno (fab!), Wall-E (fab!fab!), and katherine heigl in the likes of 27 dresses (so not fab, she doesn’t even deserve caps in her name). (Oh, and as a side note, went and saw Rachael Gets Married – got so nauseated with the hand-held camerawork that I had to watch the last hour and half with my eyes closed. MommaMonday thought I was sleeping….not a bad idea…..).
But here I am, back in town, away from the family and my movie obligations, and I’m awaiting Season 2, Discs 2 and 3. They should be here tomorrow, so good thing I’m not GirlTuesday.
Will Julie forgive Felicity for “stealing” Ben? Will Noel sleep with the ditzy blonde on Felicity’s floor? OMG, I LIKE totally can’t wait to find out.
Sadly.
I am completely (and very newly, and therefore sadly) obsessed with the show Felicity. Where the hell was this show when I was in college? Or maybe where the hell was I? It seemed like everyone I knew was watching X-Files or ER or both. The former of which, despite being extremely nerdy in college, I expressed no interest in. What was the deal with the smoking man? And why didn’t Mulder and Scully just get it over with? Seriously. But now, I know what I should have been doing instead of studying and pining for my lab partner. Watching this freakin awesome show.
It’s embarrassing to be closing in on the big 3-0 and be completely mesmerized by the doings of a scrawny, crazy, curly haired college girl. But I totally am. I have the biggest girl crush on Keri Russell. And I am not afraid to say that she should be with Noel. Not Ben. NOEL. And she never should have slept with that art student, although he was pretty hot, and I probably would have….But I do concede that it’s hard to say what should happen being that I am only as far as Season 2, Disc 2. I had to take a break from Netflixing them over the holidays since the family wanted me to get some movies. Movies?! How can they? Don’t they know I’ve been netflixing episodes at a rate of 2 per week for the last month. You have no idea how hard it is to wait three days for a disc (it’s a little remote here and the turnaround time is crap) only to stay up until midnight on a Tuesday watching 8 episodes just so I can return both discs and get two new ones! Sad I know.
Anyway, I had to spend my holidays with the likes of Juno (fab!), Wall-E (fab!fab!), and katherine heigl in the likes of 27 dresses (so not fab, she doesn’t even deserve caps in her name). (Oh, and as a side note, went and saw Rachael Gets Married – got so nauseated with the hand-held camerawork that I had to watch the last hour and half with my eyes closed. MommaMonday thought I was sleeping….not a bad idea…..).
But here I am, back in town, away from the family and my movie obligations, and I’m awaiting Season 2, Discs 2 and 3. They should be here tomorrow, so good thing I’m not GirlTuesday.
Will Julie forgive Felicity for “stealing” Ben? Will Noel sleep with the ditzy blonde on Felicity’s floor? OMG, I LIKE totally can’t wait to find out.
Sadly.
Friday, December 19, 2008
I Am Woman. Period.
I am tired, irritable and I just can't accomplish anything. Why? I have cramps. That's right- it's my time of the month. I am debilitated by pains in the tummy, a lasting headache, and general fatigue. It's no fun.
Every month, I start to feel achy. I snap at my husband and my mom more than usual. My appetite is even less than usual (I'm not a good eater). Without fail, I think to myself, 'I wonder if I'm getting sick.' I get my period with perfect regularity every four weeks. So, you would think I would be totally prepared for it each time. For some reason, I'm not. I'm in a constant, deep, subconscious denial.
I have a theory that this denial is a part of my coping mechanism-- one that every woman has. Even though it's really unfortunate to have to deal with everything involving this beneficent natural process, in a way, it's pretty empowering. Can you imagine how men would handle being sick, without fail, every month, for five to seven days? Not very well. Yet we do it. We live our lives and for the most part, perform just as well no matter what time of the month it is. As I started this post, I said I wasn't being productive. Yet the reality is I got a hell of a lot done today. I conceived of a new hairstyle this morning (I'm really into bobby pins lately). I attended and contributed greatly to three long, involved conference calls, wrote up formal documents, and reached some tricky agreements with co-workers. I made dinner (pesto rack of lamb and garlic cheddar mashed potatoes) for me and my husband. I had a nice chat with my brother. I checked in with my mother. I played with my dog. I was productive. I felt less capable today, slower, more sluggish maybe, but I don't think anyone other than myself or my girlfriends would have noticed. I performed as well as I do on most days. I internally whined about my period for about twelve seconds. Then I got up, took some Advil, made my bed, and put the tea on.
So back to the coping mechanism. If at the first sign of trouble, I started to freak out, and thought 'it's coming! what a bummer', I would totally psyche myself out and maybe I would actually be less productive. So I protect myself from that kind of thinking. (Or I'm just really thick. Whatever, I like my theory.) I don't think a man could do the same thing. If a man was dealing with my physical state, he'd likely stay in his pajamas and bitch. And we face related roadblocks all the time. Men assuming we're more emotional, dealing with us differently, being less comfortable around us in the workplace, having a hard time getting over our pretty faces or cute butts. Yet women can accomplish anything they want to in the professional world. And they do, every day. Isn't that amazing?
Every month, I start to feel achy. I snap at my husband and my mom more than usual. My appetite is even less than usual (I'm not a good eater). Without fail, I think to myself, 'I wonder if I'm getting sick.' I get my period with perfect regularity every four weeks. So, you would think I would be totally prepared for it each time. For some reason, I'm not. I'm in a constant, deep, subconscious denial.
I have a theory that this denial is a part of my coping mechanism-- one that every woman has. Even though it's really unfortunate to have to deal with everything involving this beneficent natural process, in a way, it's pretty empowering. Can you imagine how men would handle being sick, without fail, every month, for five to seven days? Not very well. Yet we do it. We live our lives and for the most part, perform just as well no matter what time of the month it is. As I started this post, I said I wasn't being productive. Yet the reality is I got a hell of a lot done today. I conceived of a new hairstyle this morning (I'm really into bobby pins lately). I attended and contributed greatly to three long, involved conference calls, wrote up formal documents, and reached some tricky agreements with co-workers. I made dinner (pesto rack of lamb and garlic cheddar mashed potatoes) for me and my husband. I had a nice chat with my brother. I checked in with my mother. I played with my dog. I was productive. I felt less capable today, slower, more sluggish maybe, but I don't think anyone other than myself or my girlfriends would have noticed. I performed as well as I do on most days. I internally whined about my period for about twelve seconds. Then I got up, took some Advil, made my bed, and put the tea on.
So back to the coping mechanism. If at the first sign of trouble, I started to freak out, and thought 'it's coming! what a bummer', I would totally psyche myself out and maybe I would actually be less productive. So I protect myself from that kind of thinking. (Or I'm just really thick. Whatever, I like my theory.) I don't think a man could do the same thing. If a man was dealing with my physical state, he'd likely stay in his pajamas and bitch. And we face related roadblocks all the time. Men assuming we're more emotional, dealing with us differently, being less comfortable around us in the workplace, having a hard time getting over our pretty faces or cute butts. Yet women can accomplish anything they want to in the professional world. And they do, every day. Isn't that amazing?
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Twilight
I have a confession. Perhaps a somewhat embarrassing confession: I have fallen deeply, completely, and head-over-heels into the Twilight craze.
About three months ago, I was driving home from work, battling traffic, and trudging along at about 10 mph on the parkway. During this time I usually try to call a family member, friend, etc to avoid the road-rage that I have a tendency to build. On this particular day my 19-year old sister was gushing about this great book that she was reading. She told me it was about vampires and werewolves and I immediately lost interest, phased out what she was saying, and started wondering to myself about what I was going to cook for dinner that night. I really have never been interested in science-fiction books so a world that included vampires and werewolves didn’t sound the least bit interesting to me. To be quite honest, when my sister started telling me about this book I remember actually rolling my eyes and thinking to myself, “isn’t Megan too old to be reading these kinds of books. I guess she is pretty flighty…”.
Two weekends ago, I had a very busy schedule. I flew from Pittsburgh, PA to Boise, ID (my trip, however, included a flight from Pittsburgh to Phoenix to Portland to Boise). I was in Boise for about 12 hours and then I flew to Tennessee. I ran a marathon the next morning and then drove from TN to Pittsburgh. A lot of traveling during the course of 36 hours. As I was walking through the airport on Thursday morning to catch my plane to Boise, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that there was a 50% off/used copy of Twilight at one of the airport bookstores. I had recently seen an interview of the main actor on Jay Leno and the flashback of my sister’s fascination with this book popped into my head. I bought the book thinking, if nothing else, it would help me pass the time on the plane.
As I started to read the first few chapters I suddenly started to feel like I was getting sucked into the world of these characters! When I was a kid, I had a problem with this. I loved to read. In fact, I was so weird. I liked to read so much that my parents would actually ground me from reading. I would get so engrossed in my books that I would do my chores, I wouldn’t eat dinner, and all I would do is read! There is a funny picture of me at about 10 years old. I am in my bedroom closet with the door shut, a blanket over my head and a reading light in my hand. I was told I wasn’t allowed to read until I had cleaned my room and so I tried to sneak away to finish a few chapters. As proof of the picture, I had apparently gotten caught.
So…back to Twilight…after reading the first few chapters, I felt like I was that same little kid again! Embarrassed that she had gotten caught reading when she should have been doing something else. I am a grown, married woman and this book is supposed to be written for a teenage generation. Yet, I couldn’t put the book down! The first book is over 600 pages and I finished it on the first flight. I have this strange ability to read very very fast. I immediately purchased the second copy during my layover and processed to read it on my second flight. It was the same effect; I couldn’t put the book down. I ended up reading all four books in the series over a course of 5 days.
The author, Stephenie Meyer, does a very good job of building up the characters. It is almost like you feel as if you know the characters. It is very strange. Or perhaps, I am just the strange one. Anyways….I convinced my husband to take me to the movie and, I swear, we were the only people in there over the age of 16. There was a lot of nervous, teenage giggling throughout the film in the rows behind me and afterwards the cinema was filled with comments like, “I can’t believe they forgot this part…” or “I knew exactly what Bella was going to say in that scene!”. Nearly everyone there had read the book first and then was going to see the movie.
Well, I feel better now that I have gotten this off my chest. I will try to no longer be embarrassed by the fact that I got caught up in the latest teenage-craze. If you get the chance to start these books, let me know what you think. I thoroughly enjoyed them and am very excited to see the next piece of work that this author produces.
About three months ago, I was driving home from work, battling traffic, and trudging along at about 10 mph on the parkway. During this time I usually try to call a family member, friend, etc to avoid the road-rage that I have a tendency to build. On this particular day my 19-year old sister was gushing about this great book that she was reading. She told me it was about vampires and werewolves and I immediately lost interest, phased out what she was saying, and started wondering to myself about what I was going to cook for dinner that night. I really have never been interested in science-fiction books so a world that included vampires and werewolves didn’t sound the least bit interesting to me. To be quite honest, when my sister started telling me about this book I remember actually rolling my eyes and thinking to myself, “isn’t Megan too old to be reading these kinds of books. I guess she is pretty flighty…”.
Two weekends ago, I had a very busy schedule. I flew from Pittsburgh, PA to Boise, ID (my trip, however, included a flight from Pittsburgh to Phoenix to Portland to Boise). I was in Boise for about 12 hours and then I flew to Tennessee. I ran a marathon the next morning and then drove from TN to Pittsburgh. A lot of traveling during the course of 36 hours. As I was walking through the airport on Thursday morning to catch my plane to Boise, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that there was a 50% off/used copy of Twilight at one of the airport bookstores. I had recently seen an interview of the main actor on Jay Leno and the flashback of my sister’s fascination with this book popped into my head. I bought the book thinking, if nothing else, it would help me pass the time on the plane.
As I started to read the first few chapters I suddenly started to feel like I was getting sucked into the world of these characters! When I was a kid, I had a problem with this. I loved to read. In fact, I was so weird. I liked to read so much that my parents would actually ground me from reading. I would get so engrossed in my books that I would do my chores, I wouldn’t eat dinner, and all I would do is read! There is a funny picture of me at about 10 years old. I am in my bedroom closet with the door shut, a blanket over my head and a reading light in my hand. I was told I wasn’t allowed to read until I had cleaned my room and so I tried to sneak away to finish a few chapters. As proof of the picture, I had apparently gotten caught.
So…back to Twilight…after reading the first few chapters, I felt like I was that same little kid again! Embarrassed that she had gotten caught reading when she should have been doing something else. I am a grown, married woman and this book is supposed to be written for a teenage generation. Yet, I couldn’t put the book down! The first book is over 600 pages and I finished it on the first flight. I have this strange ability to read very very fast. I immediately purchased the second copy during my layover and processed to read it on my second flight. It was the same effect; I couldn’t put the book down. I ended up reading all four books in the series over a course of 5 days.
The author, Stephenie Meyer, does a very good job of building up the characters. It is almost like you feel as if you know the characters. It is very strange. Or perhaps, I am just the strange one. Anyways….I convinced my husband to take me to the movie and, I swear, we were the only people in there over the age of 16. There was a lot of nervous, teenage giggling throughout the film in the rows behind me and afterwards the cinema was filled with comments like, “I can’t believe they forgot this part…” or “I knew exactly what Bella was going to say in that scene!”. Nearly everyone there had read the book first and then was going to see the movie.
Well, I feel better now that I have gotten this off my chest. I will try to no longer be embarrassed by the fact that I got caught up in the latest teenage-craze. If you get the chance to start these books, let me know what you think. I thoroughly enjoyed them and am very excited to see the next piece of work that this author produces.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Adam
Little Adam Walsh. One of my earliest memories is about him. It's fuzzy, but it's there. I'm in a department store with my sister. We are wearing wind-breaker jackets that make swishy noises when we move around. We are little, can't see over the circular racks of clothing in the store and so my perspective is from a very low vantage-- we are obviously tiny, young. Most vivid part of this memory is a sense of tension. I hold onto my sister's sleeve protectively. She is smaller than me and likes to joke around more and I'm afraid if one of us is going to get kidnapped, it's going to be her for sure. She would guiltlessly talk to any stranger, probably. I lead her around the circular racks looking for mom. Mom isn't calling for us but she knows I am the keeper, she knows I won't stray far. As we make our way through the isles, I remember looking up at the shopping adults, the ones not accompanied by children, suspiciously. I wonder- why don't they have a child? Do they want one? Will they try and take us? Just like they took Adam Walsh?
I remember making faces at people shopping alone, in the hopes that if they thought I was bratty, I wouldn't be someone they'd want to take.
I was a crazy, neurotic child.
But this is my oldest memory. It's from the very early 80's in Miami, where I was born. Adam went missing in 1981 in Florida; my sister was born in 1982. I would have to say this memory is from at least 1983.
The details of Adam's death were too terrible for my mother to ever explain to me. I just knew that the bad man that took this little boy did horrible things to him and that is why I should stay close to her at all times. In the classroom, teachers showed us that if someone approached us in a car we were to run in the exact opposite direction (a trick that would come in handy 14 years later when I was studying abroad and almost got kidnapped by a bunch of drunk Italian boys). There were all sorts of stories on the news about kids getting snatched. There was kidnapping mania, especially in the state of Florida.
I remember watching "I Know My Name is Steven" for the first time and being scared witless at the prospect of getting stolen by someone who likes to make slaves out of little kids! I didn't even like to do chores in my own house! What would life be like if I had to pour bowls of cereal for a fat lady who won't get out of bed all day and all night!? (That's what I thought happened to little-kid slaves).
The Adam Walsh case was a big deal for little me. Not just because of my parents' interest in the mystery, the tragedy, or the fact that his father became a well-known crime-busting icon. I grew up feeling like I knew Adam, as if he were in my pre-school class. I remember developing a palpable sympathy for him at such an early age. Fearful wondering what his life was like in his last moments without his parents, and hope that I would never have to experience it firsthand. Survivor's guilt for an imaginary friend.
Little Adam would have turned 34 this year. That makes me so sad.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Going Bowling
I just entered my bowl picks for the upcoming college football bowl season. I love the bowl season. Frankly, I just love college football. Some years, I think I actually look forward to New Years Day football almost more than I look forward to Christmas. (And given how many blog posts I’ve written about Christmas lately, you have to have at least some idea of how much that means I like football. I also bought a fancy TV this year to be certain to enjoy the games in the highest-possible picture quality, and, in the days before the birth of the Big Ten network, I was a faithful subscriber of ESPN College Football Game Plan. Oh, and I used to have a splitter on my cable so that I could watch two games at once. The only thing better than fall and the smell of football in the air was the chance to watch my team prove itself on the national stage in the year’s BCS game.
I miss those days.
This time around feels terribly different, however. First, I know far less about the match-ups this year than I have in years past, and I find that terribly depressing. I just reviewed the list of teams, and I haven’t really heard of half of them. I suppose there is an argument that NCAA Division I football has achieved some degree of parity, thereby relegating some of the “big name” teams to mediocrity. Or maybe it’s just that some of the big name teams stunk it up this year. Either way, there are some newcomers to the scene.
Second, I haven’t watched nearly as many games as I did last year, and certainly not as many as I did the year before. I used to stay up to watch College Gameday Final, and could tell you which team had a dark horse running back that would give their opponent fits come bowl time. Now I’m lucky if I can tell you which sideline Erin Andrews visited on any given Saturday afternoon. I’m out of the loop. I feel as though the season flew past without me, and looking at that bowl pool only cemented that belief in my mind. Trying to assign confidence values to my picks seems laughable given my complete lack of awareness this year.
Third, I’m not even sure if I’ll be able to watch half of these games. As I’ve bemoaned before, I’ve lost all ability to plan ahead in my life. Work is known to throw me for a loop as late as 3pm on a Friday afternoon. Not one to turn away from responsibility, I’m already preparing myself to have to stay late at the office despite wanting to watch my team. So I guess there is a piece of me that is trying not to get too excited for the games so as to not end up disappointed when that time comes.
But most importantly, I think I’m annoyed because I’m missing out on the great dialogue surrounding the fate of the BCS. I think the lack of high-profile match-ups is only going to exacerbate the discussion about the need for a college football playoff. When there’s talk of finding antitrust violations in the BCS, you have to know there’s something wrong. When Obama is taking about “fixing” the BCS, there’s gotta be a chance for change, right? My fiancé has crafted a plan to fix the system. My best friend has drafted a 10 page paper proposing a full-scale overhaul of the conference and rankings systems. I used to be able to criticize such proposals and offer educated, well-argued critiques and suggestions for improvement. I used to pride myself on being one of few girls who understood the intricacies of the diverse stakeholder interests at play. Now, I’m just overworked.
I miss those days.
This time around feels terribly different, however. First, I know far less about the match-ups this year than I have in years past, and I find that terribly depressing. I just reviewed the list of teams, and I haven’t really heard of half of them. I suppose there is an argument that NCAA Division I football has achieved some degree of parity, thereby relegating some of the “big name” teams to mediocrity. Or maybe it’s just that some of the big name teams stunk it up this year. Either way, there are some newcomers to the scene.
Second, I haven’t watched nearly as many games as I did last year, and certainly not as many as I did the year before. I used to stay up to watch College Gameday Final, and could tell you which team had a dark horse running back that would give their opponent fits come bowl time. Now I’m lucky if I can tell you which sideline Erin Andrews visited on any given Saturday afternoon. I’m out of the loop. I feel as though the season flew past without me, and looking at that bowl pool only cemented that belief in my mind. Trying to assign confidence values to my picks seems laughable given my complete lack of awareness this year.
Third, I’m not even sure if I’ll be able to watch half of these games. As I’ve bemoaned before, I’ve lost all ability to plan ahead in my life. Work is known to throw me for a loop as late as 3pm on a Friday afternoon. Not one to turn away from responsibility, I’m already preparing myself to have to stay late at the office despite wanting to watch my team. So I guess there is a piece of me that is trying not to get too excited for the games so as to not end up disappointed when that time comes.
But most importantly, I think I’m annoyed because I’m missing out on the great dialogue surrounding the fate of the BCS. I think the lack of high-profile match-ups is only going to exacerbate the discussion about the need for a college football playoff. When there’s talk of finding antitrust violations in the BCS, you have to know there’s something wrong. When Obama is taking about “fixing” the BCS, there’s gotta be a chance for change, right? My fiancé has crafted a plan to fix the system. My best friend has drafted a 10 page paper proposing a full-scale overhaul of the conference and rankings systems. I used to be able to criticize such proposals and offer educated, well-argued critiques and suggestions for improvement. I used to pride myself on being one of few girls who understood the intricacies of the diverse stakeholder interests at play. Now, I’m just overworked.
Monday, December 15, 2008
My Christmas Buddies: Unnamed child age 5, Evelyn, Irene, Sophie, and Rodriguez
I have loved reading all of the posts over the last week about what Christmas, and its traditions, means to everyone. I was not planning on writing about the holidays because this is always a difficult time of year for me. I don’t come from a large family with lots of traditions or even lots of members, and I cannot be with two of the people I love this year. But over the last several weeks I have come to realize that this year, Christmas is not about me anyway. And I hope to never go back to it being that way.
One Sunday over a month ago at church we watched a video montage of a member’s annual Christmas trip to Nicaragua. Now I probably couldn’t pinpoint Nicaragua on a map with any sort of accuracy (I might be able to since I think I would recognize Panama, Costa Rica, and Guatemala, but I also think there might some other countries in there like El Salvador, so then again maybe not….), and I don’t particularly care for those videos that they show with the children who have swollen bellies. I was traumatized by those as a child and now have to turn the channel when I go past them on Saturday mornings. So I already knew I was going to hate whatever they were going to show me. Well, turns out the video that the member was showing, and her trips, are really inspiring and not sad at all. All she was asking people to do was take a gallon-sized Ziploc, fill it with gifts and necessities for a child, and return it by Thanksgiving. There were clips of her handing them out, and the kids were smiling these gigantic, wide-eyed smiles only kids can do. They were showing off their Elmo toothbrushes and 99-cent coloring books to anyone who would throw a glance their way. Although this was only my second trip to the church (I’ve been church-shopping for 2 years now – I have commitment issues…a topic for another day), I scooped up a baggie figuring I could come back at least once more to drop it off.
Two weeks later I rounded up all of the goodies I needed for my unnamed child, age 5, at Wal-Mart and walked out having spent a whopping $27.17 on Veggie Tales toothbrushes, soap, playdoh, plastic dinosaurs, Hot Wheels, a comb, washcloths, crayons, and the beloved 99-cent coloring book. I then spent an hour at home trying to cram it all in the bag. Merry Christmas Unnamed Child Age 5 – don’t put all of that toothpaste on your toothbrush at once.
A week later this feeling of generosity inspired me to take two names off of the Senior Wish Tree at work (elderly county residents in nursing homes who have no family. Sad, sad, sad), at which point I went back to Wal-Mart for gift cards, a poinsettia, large print books, and a zip up robe. $43.90 well spent I told myself. Merry Christmas Evelyn, enjoy your steamy Harlequin that’s about 700 pages long because it’s Times New Roman 30 point font. Merry Christmas Irene, I hope you learn the true beauty that is finding everything you want (and tons more) at the Wal-Mart Supercenter.
But unbeknownst to me, I wasn’t done yet. We got an email alert from the Sheriff’s Department at work that there were still 102 (102!!) needy children who hadn’t been sponsored through the Mountain Santa program. Close your eyes: Can you imagine being a child who has nothing to open on Christmas morning? Now imagine 102 of them. So I emailed, and got back the name of a child: Sophie. Sophie is 11 and wants Disney and Hannah Montana stuff. You just wait Sophie, on Christmas morning you’re going to have three brand-new pink, black and red HM t-shirts, a HSM3 hoodie, a Disney glitter art set, a HM backpack, and a stocking full of candy, coke, nail polish, Lip Smackers, notepads, sparkle pens, and fuzzy pink socks. I am the first to admit I got a little carried away with Sophie. But when you’re 11, style matters. And at $119.50 (roughly), it was a steal. Merry Christmas, Sophie.
Last week I took lunch with a co-worker who had last-minute shopping to do. While she was in the Victoria’s buying a present for her partner, I took an opportunity to avoid an awkward situation and wait outside. Which just happened to be right next to the Angel Tree. As I was standing there looking around thinking about how it shouldn’t be awkward to go into a store with a lesbian who is picking out pretty panties for her partner, my glance kept going back to the tree. I noticed that the sign said gifts due Dec. 15th and it was already the 11th. The tree was positively covered with names of children needing something for the holidays. There had to be more than 102 (which apparently stood as my own internal barometer of sucker-ness), so I took one. Rodriguez age 10, size 11 shirts and pants, likes cars and trucks. Rodriguez baby, I got ya. I spent an hour at Toys-r-Us Thursday night then a really long lunch on Friday buying a remote-controlled FJ Cruiser the size of my dog, a soccer ball, a hoodie, two t-shirts, jeans, and a polo. Total: $81.82. Merry Christmas, Rodriguez.
So three kids, two seniors later, I am renewed with the spirit of Christmas. I hope that each one of them wakes up Christmas morning thinking that there is someone out there (whether it’s a parent or a stranger) who wanted to make sure that they felt just one day of hope and storybook love.
So I have decided that this year and going forward, the holidays aren’t about making sure my boyfriend has a new PS3, or making sure my mom gets that KitchenAid mixer, and in sum I didn’t spend even as much on all 5 of them as either of those items costs. It’s about understanding what Christmas really means. For me, I can’t think of anything better than spending 99-cents on a coloring book to see a child who has nothing fill with joy.
One Sunday over a month ago at church we watched a video montage of a member’s annual Christmas trip to Nicaragua. Now I probably couldn’t pinpoint Nicaragua on a map with any sort of accuracy (I might be able to since I think I would recognize Panama, Costa Rica, and Guatemala, but I also think there might some other countries in there like El Salvador, so then again maybe not….), and I don’t particularly care for those videos that they show with the children who have swollen bellies. I was traumatized by those as a child and now have to turn the channel when I go past them on Saturday mornings. So I already knew I was going to hate whatever they were going to show me. Well, turns out the video that the member was showing, and her trips, are really inspiring and not sad at all. All she was asking people to do was take a gallon-sized Ziploc, fill it with gifts and necessities for a child, and return it by Thanksgiving. There were clips of her handing them out, and the kids were smiling these gigantic, wide-eyed smiles only kids can do. They were showing off their Elmo toothbrushes and 99-cent coloring books to anyone who would throw a glance their way. Although this was only my second trip to the church (I’ve been church-shopping for 2 years now – I have commitment issues…a topic for another day), I scooped up a baggie figuring I could come back at least once more to drop it off.
Two weeks later I rounded up all of the goodies I needed for my unnamed child, age 5, at Wal-Mart and walked out having spent a whopping $27.17 on Veggie Tales toothbrushes, soap, playdoh, plastic dinosaurs, Hot Wheels, a comb, washcloths, crayons, and the beloved 99-cent coloring book. I then spent an hour at home trying to cram it all in the bag. Merry Christmas Unnamed Child Age 5 – don’t put all of that toothpaste on your toothbrush at once.
A week later this feeling of generosity inspired me to take two names off of the Senior Wish Tree at work (elderly county residents in nursing homes who have no family. Sad, sad, sad), at which point I went back to Wal-Mart for gift cards, a poinsettia, large print books, and a zip up robe. $43.90 well spent I told myself. Merry Christmas Evelyn, enjoy your steamy Harlequin that’s about 700 pages long because it’s Times New Roman 30 point font. Merry Christmas Irene, I hope you learn the true beauty that is finding everything you want (and tons more) at the Wal-Mart Supercenter.
But unbeknownst to me, I wasn’t done yet. We got an email alert from the Sheriff’s Department at work that there were still 102 (102!!) needy children who hadn’t been sponsored through the Mountain Santa program. Close your eyes: Can you imagine being a child who has nothing to open on Christmas morning? Now imagine 102 of them. So I emailed, and got back the name of a child: Sophie. Sophie is 11 and wants Disney and Hannah Montana stuff. You just wait Sophie, on Christmas morning you’re going to have three brand-new pink, black and red HM t-shirts, a HSM3 hoodie, a Disney glitter art set, a HM backpack, and a stocking full of candy, coke, nail polish, Lip Smackers, notepads, sparkle pens, and fuzzy pink socks. I am the first to admit I got a little carried away with Sophie. But when you’re 11, style matters. And at $119.50 (roughly), it was a steal. Merry Christmas, Sophie.
Last week I took lunch with a co-worker who had last-minute shopping to do. While she was in the Victoria’s buying a present for her partner, I took an opportunity to avoid an awkward situation and wait outside. Which just happened to be right next to the Angel Tree. As I was standing there looking around thinking about how it shouldn’t be awkward to go into a store with a lesbian who is picking out pretty panties for her partner, my glance kept going back to the tree. I noticed that the sign said gifts due Dec. 15th and it was already the 11th. The tree was positively covered with names of children needing something for the holidays. There had to be more than 102 (which apparently stood as my own internal barometer of sucker-ness), so I took one. Rodriguez age 10, size 11 shirts and pants, likes cars and trucks. Rodriguez baby, I got ya. I spent an hour at Toys-r-Us Thursday night then a really long lunch on Friday buying a remote-controlled FJ Cruiser the size of my dog, a soccer ball, a hoodie, two t-shirts, jeans, and a polo. Total: $81.82. Merry Christmas, Rodriguez.
So three kids, two seniors later, I am renewed with the spirit of Christmas. I hope that each one of them wakes up Christmas morning thinking that there is someone out there (whether it’s a parent or a stranger) who wanted to make sure that they felt just one day of hope and storybook love.
So I have decided that this year and going forward, the holidays aren’t about making sure my boyfriend has a new PS3, or making sure my mom gets that KitchenAid mixer, and in sum I didn’t spend even as much on all 5 of them as either of those items costs. It’s about understanding what Christmas really means. For me, I can’t think of anything better than spending 99-cents on a coloring book to see a child who has nothing fill with joy.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Christmas Tradish
As I have said before, and as several of my blogettes have concurred, I love Christmas! You would think we'd be entirely disaffected by now. After all, the season comes every year with perfect regularity. Yet I'm still so excited about the recipes, the sales, the TV programming, and the songs on the radio, even though not much of this changes year-to-year. Maybe at some point I won't really care about the holidays, but I truly hope that day never comes.
One thing that has changed about my Christmas excitement is my perspective. I now look at all Christmas stuff through the lens of a married lady. For the first time, I have my own little family. It's just me, my husband, and my dog-- but we're getting there. Each family lives their lives in their own specific way. And our little unit is no different. We do some things like my parents, some like his, some like our friends, and some uniquely our own. We keep the coffee in the freezer, we let the dog on some furniture, we say grace before eating. It's fun to develop our ways of living. The longer we've been married, the more carefully defined they become, and it's a wonderfully comforting and empowering feeling.
So back to Christmas. The first few years you're in a serious relationship, it's common to go "home" to mom and dad for the holidays, if possible. It often stays that way until you have kids, or even for a few years after that. But sooner or later, the grandparents will probably come to you, or you'll just choose to stay at home. Most people I know had Christmas at their own homes growing up. I love hearing about my friends' Christmas experiences, because they always vary in the cutest ways. And it gets my mind churning in terms of the traditions that will be a part of my household- some like my family, some like my husband's, and the new ones we create.
Luckily, most of my friends and I are in the married-without-kids or married-with-very-young-kids stage, which buys us some time to think of those special ways in which we can make Christmas special for our family units. Christmas activities that could turn into traditions to create lasting memories. I thought I'd have some fun sharing what I've heard from others and things I've come up with. Enjoy!
Opening one gift Christmas Eve, and the rest in the morning.
Opening the gifts from mom and dad Christmas Eve, and the gifts from Santa in the morning.
Only wrapping the gifts not from Santa. (His come straight from the workshop, didn't you know that?)
Putting out cookies and milk for Santa, or, alleging that you have the inside scoop and you happen to know for a FACT that Santa prefers Rice Krispy Treats, Brownies, or some other family favorite desert.
Leaving out carrots for the reindeer.
Getting the tree the weekend after Thanksgiving, or the first weekend in December, every year
A special Christmas morning breakfast that you don't usually eat
Getting a stocking stuffed with little presents, then one big, wrapped present
Having a holiday movie marathon on Christmas Eve
Making ornaments with the kids, or giving them each their own each year
One present given on Christmas Eve- pajamas, so the kids look cute opening their presents the next day in the photos
Volunteering with a charity during the holiday season, brining your kids along
Driving around the neighborhood, looking at light displays
Stockings filled with only that child's favorite candies
Let the youngest child pick up each present and read the name and hand it to the recipient
Order pizza, or something the kids really love, on Christmas Eve, or Christmas Day-- whatever day you are not having the big dinner
Be open to new traditions as they naturally develop!
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Holiday Treats
Christmas is my favorite time of year! I could spend an entire blog dedicated to the reasons why I love Christmas (the smell of the pine needles mixed with subtle cinnamon aromas from my mom’s favorite holiday candles, the visual stimulus of the beautifully wrapped gifts under the trees, my huge clan of siblings running out on Christmas morning to quickly unveil their gifts). However, over the last three years I have created a new and exciting (and just a little silly) reason to love the holidays.
Those of you who know me have probably by now figured out one very obvious and sometimes surprising personality trait. I love good food! It is a good thing I enjoy running and working out or else I would most definitely be nearing about 300 pounds with the way I can put down food. It is a running joke in my office to try to see who can out-eat me at company events. And of all the wonderful tastes and flavors, the one that tempts me the most are sweets. What better time of year than the holidays to give in to this wonderful little desire? I love to indulge in the richest and most decadent flavors that seem to come hand-in-hand with the holidays.
Three years ago I decided to try to share this joy of holiday treats with as many loved ones as possible. I decided I would make a batch of homemade caramels and homemade fudge and send them to friends and family in cute little holiday containers. Well, that first year ended up being quite a disaster. I wasn’t aware that caramels are very sensitive candies and that if you don’t cook them long enough they end up too soft and if you cook them too long they become brittle. My batch was much much too soft and they were nearly impossible to wrap in wax paper. The batch of fudge did not have much more of a success story. I had lined the glass pan with butter to prevent the fudge from sticking. However, when I went to cut the fudge out of the glass pan, it had a weird, thick, white film on the outer edge of the fudge. One consequence of putting too much butter on the pan. I was far too embarrassed to actually give these treats to people, so they ended up in a huge metal bowl on top of my fridge. Slowly but surely (and with the help of my seven roommates) the candies disappeared over the next few weeks. Although I am sure my roommates enjoyed the candies, they never made it to the hands and mouths of those they were intended. I vowed that the next year I would put more thought and preparation into my holiday candies.
Last year, I decided to reach out to my grandma. She had always made wonderful caramels each year and was one of my favorite memories of visiting her house during the holidays. She sent me her tried-and-true recipe for caramels…they turned out great! Last year I also decided to add a few additional goodies to my “treat bag” that I was handing out to friends. I included fudge (with a new and improved recipe this year), divinity, nut brittle, and gingerbread. It was a huge hit!! I individually wrapped the candies, put them in cute decorated holiday paper bags and topped the bags with holiday tissue paper. I was dubbed the “Martha Stewart” of the office as everyone chowed down on the goodies.
This year I have made it a goal to create the best holiday treats yet! In my pursuit of the greatest holiday candies and treats I came up with an idea: I will post my recipe for caramels. If anyone has any great recipes that you think I should add to the mix then let me know! Post it on here and I will promise to add it to my collection of treats that I hand out this year.
Grandma Hatch’s Homemade Caramel Recipe
1 cup margarine or butter (don’t use corn-oil margarine. It will make your caramels too soft).
1 16-ounce package (2 ¼ cups) packed brown sugar
2 cups light cream
1 cup light corn syrup
1 teaspoon vanilla
Line an 8x8x2 or 9x9x2 inch baking pan with foil, extending foil over edges of pan. Butter the foil (or just spray it with cooking spray), set aside.
In a heavy and large pan, melt the butter over low heat. Add brown sugar, cream, and corn syrup; mix well. Cook and stir over medium-high heat to boiling. Clip a candy thermometer to the side of the pan. NOTE: Make sure that you do not leave the bottom of the thermometer touching the bottom of the pan as it will read inaccurately. Cook and stir mixture over medium heat to 248 degrees, firm-ball stage. This will take a while, about 45-60 minutes to do so. The temperature will probably linger at 225 for a while, that is normal, just keep stirring. You must continue stirring the entire time!
Remove the saucepan from heat; remove thermometer. Stir in vanilla. Immediately pour caramel mixture into the prepared pan. When caramel mixture is firm, us foil to lift it out of the pan. Use a buttered knife to cut into 1-inch squares. Wrap in caramel in wax paper and twist the ends of the wax paper around the caramel. Makes about 2 pounds (64 servings). Sometimes you can find wax paper with holiday prints, and that adds a nice touch when you are wrapping the caramels.
I hope you all enjoy this recipe as much as I do!!
Those of you who know me have probably by now figured out one very obvious and sometimes surprising personality trait. I love good food! It is a good thing I enjoy running and working out or else I would most definitely be nearing about 300 pounds with the way I can put down food. It is a running joke in my office to try to see who can out-eat me at company events. And of all the wonderful tastes and flavors, the one that tempts me the most are sweets. What better time of year than the holidays to give in to this wonderful little desire? I love to indulge in the richest and most decadent flavors that seem to come hand-in-hand with the holidays.
Three years ago I decided to try to share this joy of holiday treats with as many loved ones as possible. I decided I would make a batch of homemade caramels and homemade fudge and send them to friends and family in cute little holiday containers. Well, that first year ended up being quite a disaster. I wasn’t aware that caramels are very sensitive candies and that if you don’t cook them long enough they end up too soft and if you cook them too long they become brittle. My batch was much much too soft and they were nearly impossible to wrap in wax paper. The batch of fudge did not have much more of a success story. I had lined the glass pan with butter to prevent the fudge from sticking. However, when I went to cut the fudge out of the glass pan, it had a weird, thick, white film on the outer edge of the fudge. One consequence of putting too much butter on the pan. I was far too embarrassed to actually give these treats to people, so they ended up in a huge metal bowl on top of my fridge. Slowly but surely (and with the help of my seven roommates) the candies disappeared over the next few weeks. Although I am sure my roommates enjoyed the candies, they never made it to the hands and mouths of those they were intended. I vowed that the next year I would put more thought and preparation into my holiday candies.
Last year, I decided to reach out to my grandma. She had always made wonderful caramels each year and was one of my favorite memories of visiting her house during the holidays. She sent me her tried-and-true recipe for caramels…they turned out great! Last year I also decided to add a few additional goodies to my “treat bag” that I was handing out to friends. I included fudge (with a new and improved recipe this year), divinity, nut brittle, and gingerbread. It was a huge hit!! I individually wrapped the candies, put them in cute decorated holiday paper bags and topped the bags with holiday tissue paper. I was dubbed the “Martha Stewart” of the office as everyone chowed down on the goodies.
This year I have made it a goal to create the best holiday treats yet! In my pursuit of the greatest holiday candies and treats I came up with an idea: I will post my recipe for caramels. If anyone has any great recipes that you think I should add to the mix then let me know! Post it on here and I will promise to add it to my collection of treats that I hand out this year.
Grandma Hatch’s Homemade Caramel Recipe
1 cup margarine or butter (don’t use corn-oil margarine. It will make your caramels too soft).
1 16-ounce package (2 ¼ cups) packed brown sugar
2 cups light cream
1 cup light corn syrup
1 teaspoon vanilla
Line an 8x8x2 or 9x9x2 inch baking pan with foil, extending foil over edges of pan. Butter the foil (or just spray it with cooking spray), set aside.
In a heavy and large pan, melt the butter over low heat. Add brown sugar, cream, and corn syrup; mix well. Cook and stir over medium-high heat to boiling. Clip a candy thermometer to the side of the pan. NOTE: Make sure that you do not leave the bottom of the thermometer touching the bottom of the pan as it will read inaccurately. Cook and stir mixture over medium heat to 248 degrees, firm-ball stage. This will take a while, about 45-60 minutes to do so. The temperature will probably linger at 225 for a while, that is normal, just keep stirring. You must continue stirring the entire time!
Remove the saucepan from heat; remove thermometer. Stir in vanilla. Immediately pour caramel mixture into the prepared pan. When caramel mixture is firm, us foil to lift it out of the pan. Use a buttered knife to cut into 1-inch squares. Wrap in caramel in wax paper and twist the ends of the wax paper around the caramel. Makes about 2 pounds (64 servings). Sometimes you can find wax paper with holiday prints, and that adds a nice touch when you are wrapping the caramels.
I hope you all enjoy this recipe as much as I do!!
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Christmas, Finally
The week before I left for Boston was difficult for me. Four weeks into a new job that was proving to be the most challenging I've ever had. Live news, daily. Working under a stressed-out, in-over-his-head senior producer (probably the same age as me, horrifyingly enough) who opts for public, after-the-fact criticism instead of instruction beforehand. No matter what I do, I lose. I am forced to defend myself in front of my coworkers and then I appear defensive. I forfeit and I look guilty. In four weeks I'd been so beaten down I began to avoid looking in the mirror wherever possible.
And the news itself doesn't help. Layoffs. Disappearing retirement funds. The big three. Bailouts. Proposition 8 protests. A worker dies in black Friday madness. One hundred and eighty something dead in Mumbai. Cholera in Zimbabwe.
And every night I leave work and walk past Radio City Music Hall to get to the bus I take home. And every night I walk past multi-generational tourist families and holiday music blasting from the sidewalk speakers that hang from the marquee advertising for the Rockettes.
And every night I walk past a store and see huge "40% off" signs and I see people at the register discussing complicated coupons, trying to figure out how much more they need to spend before they can qualify for the deal.
And every night I walk past empty restaurants with bored-but-nervous waiters and "retail space available" signs over brown-papered windows.
And Gray's Papaya now has a "recession special."
Two nights before I left for Boston, I almost died while trying to make it to the bus to leave work. Almost crushed to death by the throngs of people pushing to see the NBC tree-lighting ceremony. I can't remember the last time I'd seen such acts of stupidity.
I'd had a really bad day at work. And when the crowds started pressing me farther and farther from my bus stop and I had no control over anything, I just burst into tears and decided to walk home.
I stopped at a Chinese takeout place on my way-- garland and tinsel and big metallic snowflakes hung around the restaurant. And classic Christmas tunes played to an almost non-existent audience. Just me. Waiting for my chicken black bean. Few things sadder than a Chinese restaurant during the holidays. Well, except a girl with mascara tear tracks staining her cheeks, waiting for her number 81 special, all alone in a Chinese restaurant during the holidays.
But two days later I found myself in Boston. Old, beautiful Boston. Wide streets, lined with lighted trees and polite people who would say sorry or excuse themselves if they cut you off too close. Quincy market-- full of trinkets and chocolate covered pretzels that are always there- not just during the holidays. People eating fried foods at the Celtics game. People spilling onto Hanover Street and into the Italian restaurants. No one needs an excuse to indulge, or an annual festivity to drink to. Music and history in the streets. Cobblestones. Gold eagles and old clocks... New York City is mostly black and gray. Boston is brick red. There's rolling mountains behind the cityscape. I did absolutely nothing all day and was fully entertained.
When I woke up in my hotel room on my last day in Boston, snow covered the treetops. Everything in the entire city seemed still.
Merry Christmas.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Wii wish you a Merry Christmas
I had vowed to write about something other than the holidays this week—but Charlie Brown Christmas is on, and I just got some new ornaments for the now-decorated tree, and I can’t help but get excited about Christmas morning.
My fiancé and I bought ourselves a Wii for Christmas. We were shocked when we walked into the Best Buy last night and they still had one in stock, and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to spend the Christmas season on my parents’ floor playing Mario Kart with our Wii Wheels.
Proud of our purchase, my fiancé then called his friends to let them know we’d gotten one. They promptly invited themselves over to play. Unfortunately for them, we informed them that we would be abiding by yet another of my “rules” – Christmas presents cannot, under no uncertain terms, be opened before Christmas morning. Aside from “early” Christmas presents like my new Christmas tree skirt, or the first ornaments my parents bought us, I refuse to give in to the desire to break open that new video game system and start playing.
I do the same thing with birthday presents. Even when I was in graduate school and my parents’ birthday presents would arrive weeks early, I would let the boxes sit on my apartment floor until midnight on my birthday, or, when I was exercising the utmost restraint, until the following morning. There’s something far too anticlimactic about opening them early—then there’s nothing to look forward on the day of.
The same thing goes double for Christmas. I still go to bed before my parents on Christmas Eve, and I still refuse to see the presents around the bottom of the tree until Christmas morning. Although their new house is only one story and it’s hard to go “upstairs” anymore, I always go hide when it’s time for Santa to come. To that end, I plan to wrap up our Wii and put it under the tree at my folks’ house, because even though we both know what it is, I want the joy of finding it under the tree and opening it and playing with it all day long on Christmas day.
Perhaps it’s something I will grow out of when I have my own children, and I’ve learned to appreciate the joy of their smiling faces on Christmas morning, as opposed to my own refusal to grow up. For now, however, I am having a hard time letting go of the little girl in me, perched at the top of the stairs, waiting with baited breath to be told I’m allowed to come downstairs and see the tree.
My fiancé and I bought ourselves a Wii for Christmas. We were shocked when we walked into the Best Buy last night and they still had one in stock, and couldn’t pass up the opportunity to spend the Christmas season on my parents’ floor playing Mario Kart with our Wii Wheels.
Proud of our purchase, my fiancé then called his friends to let them know we’d gotten one. They promptly invited themselves over to play. Unfortunately for them, we informed them that we would be abiding by yet another of my “rules” – Christmas presents cannot, under no uncertain terms, be opened before Christmas morning. Aside from “early” Christmas presents like my new Christmas tree skirt, or the first ornaments my parents bought us, I refuse to give in to the desire to break open that new video game system and start playing.
I do the same thing with birthday presents. Even when I was in graduate school and my parents’ birthday presents would arrive weeks early, I would let the boxes sit on my apartment floor until midnight on my birthday, or, when I was exercising the utmost restraint, until the following morning. There’s something far too anticlimactic about opening them early—then there’s nothing to look forward on the day of.
The same thing goes double for Christmas. I still go to bed before my parents on Christmas Eve, and I still refuse to see the presents around the bottom of the tree until Christmas morning. Although their new house is only one story and it’s hard to go “upstairs” anymore, I always go hide when it’s time for Santa to come. To that end, I plan to wrap up our Wii and put it under the tree at my folks’ house, because even though we both know what it is, I want the joy of finding it under the tree and opening it and playing with it all day long on Christmas day.
Perhaps it’s something I will grow out of when I have my own children, and I’ve learned to appreciate the joy of their smiling faces on Christmas morning, as opposed to my own refusal to grow up. For now, however, I am having a hard time letting go of the little girl in me, perched at the top of the stairs, waiting with baited breath to be told I’m allowed to come downstairs and see the tree.
Monday, December 8, 2008
The End of the Internet
The internet isn’t that great, really. I once had a job for TWO years that gave me so much free time that I think I actually got to the end of the internet. Seriously. One Thursday (not that I remember exactly) afternoon, it just hit me that there was nothing else to look at. I couldn’t think of one single website that I hadn’t been to or one single headline, byline or pop-up ad, I hadn’t clicked on.
So that gave me the idea to give back (and really, hope you all will, in turn, give to me) by recommending some places to visit should you choose to spend some time during the day on the information superhighway.
I usually like to start my day with news: cnn.com, nytimes.com, washingtonpost.com, local papers, etc. I have four local papers that I read (don’t ask) – I like to know what’s going on in just about every major city that I’ve ever lived in. My favorite days are: wedding announcement Mondays in the NYT, and DateLab Sundays in the Washingtonpost. (this is a particularly good one: http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/08/14/AR2008081401423.html). I also like the GoingOut Gurus and the Travel Discussion – it’s got me thinking about spending New Year’s in
And for real news, I also hit up the espn.com, which is sort of news, sort of pretty boys. Mmmmm. Pretty boys. Paying particular attention to Page 2, which is the funnier and less informative part of espn: http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/page2/index. Two of the best things to read are the SportsGuy and UniWatch. Good times, good times. And in the winter it’s uscho.com for your hockey fix. Another entertaining “news” site is eonline.com. As are theonion.com and people.com. And if you want to kill some major time, one of my all-times favorites is televisionwithoutpity.com.
At various times I also check email: yahoo.com, hotmail.com, and gmail.com (never know when someone might email that hotmail account I set up in 1995 and stopped using regularly in 1998). And my grad. school email account. Speaking of, if I get really desperate I hit up both the college and grad. school webpages, just in case somethin’s going down that I need to know about. My college has this great alumni note section where folks can post stuff, so I like visiting there when I’m feeling good about my life. Just to put my self-confidence in check. Married: nope, Lawyer: nope, Doctor: nope, Fulbright: nope, Baby: nope. Check.
I also do a little shopping: Nordstrom.com, amazon.com, ebay.com, cars.com (I’m alllllways car shopping), petfinder (cute puppies!), zillow.com (got to check the value of the house), bluefly.com, zappos.com, target.com, pollstar.com, horchow.com, ikea.com, and one of my favorites: nancykoltesathome.com.
Now don’t get me started on all the job-hunting sites I sometimes check, which are too numerous to mention, but the sum of which stands at an astounding 51. Not including such crappy sites as monster.com and careerbuilder.com which I actually find aren’t worth my time—and that’s saying something.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Be Nice
I am a walking contradiction. Of course I am-- I'm a woman! I'm an anti-elitist who appreciates prestige. I don't judge people-- unless they judge people; then I automatically hate them. I'm a rabid saver who loves to spend money. I'm a lazy couch potato who enjoys exercising. I'm a morning person who loves to sleep in. I'm a laid-back chick who gets easily riled up. I'm indifferent yet passionate. I'm highly intelligent and stubbornly provincial. Most of all, I'm a sweet girl who is a complete bitch.
The other day, I noticed my husband's facebook status message was a song lyric we have been listening to lately. I smiled. It was cute. Since I am in the habit of using my favorite song lyrics as status messages, I thought of it as something of a compliment that he did the same. But, a friend of ours "made a comment" to his status. She wrote, "um... been there done that and still addicted!". Now I know it's not a big deal, but I found it kind of obnoxious. I know that she really likes this artist. His new album came out a few weeks ago and she had (in commenting to a status/song lyric I had posted a while ago) asked me if I got it yet. I said, 'no, how is it?'. She said, 'Pretty good." I said, 'Cool.' My husband and I have been listening to this artist for years. I know she's been into him lately. Maybe for as long as we have. Whatever. It's not a contest. I hate music-snobbery. Which is why I hated her status message so much. I know, in a sense, she was trying to say, 'I love that song too'. But what she was really saying was, 'Oh yeah, I totally know that song and have loved it for a long time.' (For the whole three weeks since the album's been out.) And what is up with that "um" in the beginning of the sentence? So I know I'm reading very deeply into this and getting carried away. I have realized lately that when people make snide remarks to me, I'm not necessarily but more likely willing to let it roll off my back. Behave that way with someone I'm close to, let alone my husband, and you better watch the f*ck out.
So I added an additional comment, under hers, that said "I know that song too! Look at me!" (If you are reading this and you are friends with my husband on facebook, you can see it for yourself.) What I was trying to do was point out how ridiculous people look when they desperately want to show others that they're in the know about something, like she was doing. I realize it was a tad bitchy of me. I even feel a little bad about it. But not that bad. One of my attributes- for better or for worse- is an overdeveloped sense of justice. I think being not-nice is a good response to someone who was not-nice to you. Or someone you care about.
The thing about being nice is-- if you are nice to everyone, then being nice kind of loses its meaning. I'm not saying that you should punch someone in the face if you don't like their outfit. Generally, people should be kind and friendly to everyone they encounter. I often subscribe to the "turn the other cheek" mentality, because, you know, who cares. It's usually not worth it if someone is a rude a**hole. But if you are extra, out-of-your-way nice to someone who wasn't that nice to you, it's devaluing the instances you were nice to people who cared enough to specifically show you kindness. Being nice-- appropriately- is also a way of showing loyalty to those who deserve it.
Another problem I have is that I think I am very funny. So if I have the chance to zing someone, and they deserve it, it is especially hard for me not to. Which is again, ironic, because I HATE HATE HATE when people make jokes at someone else's expense just to get a laugh. I think it is pathetic and repugnant. But it's okay when I do it, because I only do it when the target is otherwise a douche-bag. Do you have a problem with that, you judgmental prick?! I kid, I kid. I have enough self-awareness to know how convenient it is that I am the one who gets to decide who deserves ridicule and who doesn't. But you can judge a person by her actions, and I stand by mine most of the time. If you know me, you probably do like me. If you don't know me, you probably would.
Later that day, the girl from facebook's status message said, "So-and-so wants to SCREAM!!!" I have no idea if it had anything to do with me and what I said. But just the possibility of that being the reason she is distressed made me want to throw up. I know none of this is a big deal, but I felt terrible. I guess the joke's on me.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Tips and Tidbits from the Pageant World
As I have mentioned in other blogs, I come from a very large family. And although my parents were able to give us so many things (a wonderful loving environment to come home to every day, confidence & belief in ourselves, etc) there was one thing they weren’t able to give us: money for college. I realized very early on that if I was going to go to college I would need to find a way to pay for it on my own.
I was an athlete so I was able to get substantial athletic scholarships. I also had high grades and test scores so I was eligible for many academic scholarships. However, I went to a private liberal arts college and there was still a remainder of my tuition that wasn’t covered by scholarships and grants. So, in my search for additional scholarship funds I found one great way for me to pay for my education – compete in pageants. Over my four-year undergraduate education I was able to earn over $30,000 in scholarships, speak and make presentations to the State Senate, and address numerous audiences throughout the state of Idaho on a monthly basis.
Now, I could probably dedicate an entire blog just to the “world” of pageants. However, the purpose of this blog isn’t to justify or defend the program. This is a blog to let the every-day person in on five of the tips and tricks that you learn in the pageant world!
1. Whether it be from a late night studying, or a fun night out on the town…we have all had mornings where your eyes are puffy, swollen, or show dark circle. The Solution: Put preparation H (hemorrhoid cream) under your eyes!! The ointment will relieve the puffiness and swelling!
2. Duct tape isn’t just for DIY fixes throughout the house! If you ever need a little “perk” for the ladies upstairs and are wearing a backless dress…duct tape is the answer! You can lean over with the roll of duct tape in your hand and tape from one side of your chest to the other (usually it takes about three strips of tape) while “pushing up” at the same time you are taping. It creates miraculous results. Warning: This usually takes the help of another person and is actually quite painful when you are taking the tape off. One helpful tip: Bandaids over the sensitive areas.
3. If you are one of a series of people being interviewed for the same position there is a placement strategy. Typically people tend give the best score to the person who is close to the end of your interviewees. For example, let’s say there are 20 people applying for the same position. Interviewers tend to be harder on the first bunch of the applicants because they don’t necessarily have a medium to compare. Towards the end of the interview process, they are usually tired/exhausted/bored from interviewing. We’ve found that usually if you are numbers 15-18 (out of 20) you have the best chance of being selected. Keep in mind, this isn’t fool-proof. If you are an excellent interviewer you can get a high score regardless of your “position”. However, if competition is tough….keep this in mind. You may think about this strategy also when you are making a presentation in class…the same concept applies.
4. Don’t worry, preparation H isn’t just for swollen eyes!! Ever had to wear a bathing suit in public? I have…and it is not too fun if you aren’t in your best shape. Take Preparation H ointment and rub it on your legs. It will reduce the appearance of cellulite and tighten up your skin, reducing the “jiggle” effect! Crazy, I know, but it works.
5. Speaking of swimsuits….hate when you are in a swimsuit and the swimsuit material starts to ride? There is a secret: Butt Glue. It is actually "wig glue" that women use to keep their wigs on their heads, but you can also use it on your swimsuit to keep it in place. You can use this same application to keep straps or pieces of dresses in place. Keep in mind, however, that the glue isn’t incredibly strong so if you are planning on actively moving around this isn’t the best plan of attack.
So there you have it. The secret world of a beauty queen.
This was kind of a silly post and I touched on the “stereotypical” areas of a pageant. Although I do believe that stereotypes start for a reason, and there are some girls who compete that are competing for the wrong reasons, I don’t have enough gratitude for the growth I received from competing in this program. As I mentioned earlier, I was able to pay for a huge portion of my education, I learned how to command attention to both large and small audiences, and got many connections throughout the state of Idaho along the way. I had the opportunity to speak regularly at Chamber of Commerce meetings in communities throughout Idaho to teach business owners how to comply with the Americans with Disabilities Act. I convinced multiple school boards in Idaho and Oregon to pilot a student-based peer tutoring program, enabling the participation of over 500 elementary and junior-high students. I was awarded the “Overall Interview Award” two years in a row, an achievement which I was most proud of.
Maybe one of these days in a blog I will feel like defending the program to people who criticize it, or explaining the differences between the Miss America Organization and the Miss USA program (very different programs with very different types of girls who compete, different entry qualifications, judging criteria, etc) but in the meantime I am happy knowing that I have shared some of my “secret tips” that I learned while competing as a pageant winner.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Short Stories: Part IV
What to do when your friend's boyfriend writes you a love email? That's a question for the modern ages. We're not talking about a letter that travels over land and sea and passes through many strange hands to reach you. We're talking about an email that came instantly into my view and I assume he expected a fairly instant response. I mean, as with anything digital, there's a general expectation of immediacy, and a hastened statute of limitations on responding before things get awkward.
But I felt I had time to call my mom, my sister-- to get on the phone and scream about this new twist of plot. So I did. We screamed. My mom got to say, "I told you so" and my sister said, "oh my God" over and over. Turns out they were no help. The only thing I accomplished while dissecting everything with them was that I should definitely not tell M what her boyfriend had done. And I never did- I never told M.
I got off the phone with them and began to compose my response. I kept re-reading his email, still in disbelief. If I hadn't erased the email (at a later date, out of anger I did erase the love email), I'd tell you exactly what it said. I do remember it went something like this:
"I'm going to say this at a huge risk... of saying something that could change everything... but I would never forgive myself if I let this go... you're about to go to your new job and I can't let you go without saying... I'm crazy about you, for a long time...this weekend was all wrong... I was there with the wrong girl... I'm crazy about you like the Wonder Years... I have to know if you feel the same."
Crazy like the Wonder Years huh?
I took my time and gently wrote a response. I didn't flat-out say "sorry, not interested." Instead, I was kind and subtle and blamed the circumstances. I figured whether or not I liked him in return could arguably be considered irrelevant, given the fact that he was currently dating my friend and that I had a boyfriend. But also the truth was, I was too chicken to blurt out the truth that something had been horribly miscommunicated while I was friends with Evan. So I wrote this nervous, long-winded email- likely not saying anything he was interested in hearing-- a lot of how-did-this-happen type of musings. I closed it with "and so I'm sorry this will never work as you are dating my friend and I have a boyfriend." The end.
The problem with rejecting a guy who normally has girls throwing themselves at him is that he doesn't tend to believe you when you do it. The day after the email exchange he wrote, "you're not married, you're not off limits." I was disgusted with his level of confidence, but I somehow "felt bad," I suppose because I was turning down a coworker's romantic advances, which was just uncomfortable and also because I was invariably going to disappoint him.
He insisted we meet the following day to discuss everything. I really didn't want to discuss anything with him. But I agreed. I'm a pushover. I agreed to meet him in the park near my apartment.
And as could have been easily predicted, the whole meeting was anything but a walk in the park. I didn't have a clue what to say. I was feeling responsible and in the hot seat and exposed and sorry. The first thing I said was,
"You're not going to try and kiss me are you?" Evan's eyes grew wide and he choked a little. He said,
"Only if you want me to...?"
"No. Please don't." Oh God so awkward.
I steered the conversation toward M. What was he going to do about that? When was he going to break up with her? He couldn't string her along. He had to do something soon-- while I was walking through Riverside Park with Evan, M was texting me asking what I thought about her relationship with Evan and why I thought he suddenly stopped communicating with her.
I was beginning to grow weary of this unwieldy problem that I felt wasn't really mine. High school romance drama: not really my problem, right? I mean, it was thrown in my lap and I had to deal with it but it wasn't my mess.
Evan appeared to consider my questions for a moment, then let the words fall out of his mouth like little pebbles: he was only going to break up with M if it turned out that I liked him.
I am going to now ask every girl out there with a boyfriend to punch him. Not in the face, just like in the arm or something. But punch hard. And do it for every indecent and unkind thing he might have ever done, and for every indecent and unkind thing he'll ever potentially- even remotely- do to you. Like Evan, who was playing his girlfriend like an apartment you're not ready to sign the lease on because you want to make sure that other, cheaper apartment with the one-and-one-half bathrooms doesn't become available first.
I looked at him squarely and ordered him to break up with M. I told him that she adores him and he knew that, and that there's no way he could stay with her while liking anyone else, let alone her friend.
It took him a few days-- a few days of sheer torture for M who waited and waited and waited for Evan to call her or show a glimmer of the boy she knew before-- but Evan did eventually break up with M. I felt it was important that the news came from him and not me. I was sweating though, because the longer Evan waited to break up with her, the more I felt I needed to tell her to break up with him and tell her why she should do it.
On that day he asked her to meet him on the plaza where we work, from where countless live shows have been broadcast, and she was giddy. She wrote me that he finally wanted to talk to her and he "seemed friendly" so everything was probably fine. He's probably just been busy.
By this time, I was at my new job and working about a row away from M. I had a clear view of her quick and painful deterioration from a happy, healthy, athletic girl, into a solemn and heavy-hearted person who kept checking her blackberry to see if Evan was trying to get in touch with her. So she jumped up and flew out of the newsroom to meet him that afternoon.
They sat on a bench in a sliver of sun that escaped between two skyscrapers. She was so nervous. He was making a serious face. He broke up with her right then and there. She texted me immediately that she was free because she finally had her answer.
But "free" is not exactly how I'd describe what she appeared to be feeling. She went through a dark and very public mourning phase where she cried at her desk and left work early or didn't show up for work or came in looking like she hadn't showered and laughed really loudly at things that weren't funny but everyone looked up from their desks... It was not good.
I decided I'd shrink away from her scene, even though she emailed me pretty constantly wanting to rehash the details of her brief relationship. I couldn't talk to her about it. I knew too much and none of it I was willing to share with her. It was my own, dirty, uncomfortable secret.
I would occasionally see Evan. I was still feeling pretty guilty. I would meet up with him for dinner but we wouldn't talk about "it." We were pretending nothing was out of the ordinary.
One night we started talking about our coworker Emy who was on the business trip in San Antonio with us. I mentioned she was a cute girl.
"You should maybe date her," I offered. I was hoping the day would come when he'd be dating someone else and I didn't have to wonder if he still liked me or not. Not that him having a girlfriend would ensure that... But Evan didn't take to the idea,
"I don't like her like that. She's not my type."
That Friday night I got relentless drunken text messages from Evan. "Please let me come over," he wrote over and over. It was fast becoming clear that I could not maintain a friendship with him. I declined his offers to "make it worth my while," and went to bed early.
That Monday I took a coffee break with Emy in the ladies room. One of our company's bathrooms has a spacious waiting area where were used to take gossip breaks and gush in hushed tones.
"I had a really big date this weekend," Emy said with a smile, "Well not really a date. Evan kept calling me from this party saying that he really wanted to spend time with me. And so I met up with him for a few drinks and then we went back to my apartment."
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Oh Tannenbaum
I just ordered a fake Christmas tree. Our apartment building doesn’t allow real trees, so we really had no choice. Plus, now that I am no longer at home on break from school for most of December, it was important to me to decorate our apartment for the season. So I spent the afternoon scouring the internet for an affordable, yet realistic artificial tree. I found beautiful Blue Spruces and Douglas Firs that would take up virtually our entire living room or narrower trees that would cost a small fortune, and finally decided to settle on a rather pathetic looking “slim profile” model that has a footprint small enough to fit in the only non-occupied location in our living room/dining room combo.
The whole experience made me feel inadequate. Growing up, my family always, ALWAYS, had a real tree. My brother and I would spend countless hours in late November and early December trying to convince my parents of the need to get an even bigger and better tree than the year before. When we were really young, we would go to one of those giant tree farms that spread across the countryside to cut our own tree. There was a haywagon shuttle that would drop customers throughout fields of the appropriate height trees. My father still has the rusty yellow handsaw hanging on the wall in our garage that we used to use. And then, when we were done finding the perfect specimen, we’d hope back on the wagon, bind up the tree, share a cup of hot chocolate around the bonfire, and try to stay quiet while my parents figured out how to strap the thing to the top of the station wagon.
Of course, it’s not just buying the tree that is different when you are celebrating your first Christmas on your own—there’s also the question of how to decorate it. There are many schools of thought when it comes to Christmas tree decorating. There are designer Christmas trees with strict color palates, Victorian Christmas trees, Christmas trees with edible garlands, trees with fake birds that look like they are still sitting in the back yard. There are trees with a single ornament in multiple colors; trees covered in ribbons of all widths and textures. Trees with nothing but twinkling lights; and trees with spray glitter paint finishes on the limbs. There are tiny Charlie-Brown Christmas trees that need lots of TLC, and there are mammoth Rockefeller Plaza style trees towering in town squares and office building foyers. There are so many possibilities, but it wasn’t until a few weeks ago when I realized how daunting it is to pick what kind of tree I wanted to have.
The daunting part is not choosing which brand of ornament to buy or which stores to check. It is the realization that the kind of tree I want isn’t available by mail order or even at the Pier One I walk past on my way to work. To me, decorating a our Christmas tree is not about making an interior design statement—it is about capturing the memories and moments of Christmas after Christmas, and memorializing those moments for years to come. My parents still have the faded plain red globe ornaments they bought to fill the empty spaces on their first Christmas tree. They have every ornament my mother’s students gave her, and every non-perishable craft ornament my brother and I made at elementary school holiday parties. There are ornaments that use our school pictures, and ornaments that reflect the various hobbies my brother and I picked up over the course of our childhood, from playing the trumpet to collecting rubber duckies, there are ornaments to capture them all. And there is even a doilie angel with tinsel hair that I made as a present to my mom in pre-school.
My parents tree has always been a time capsule, in that regard. Trimming the tree involves a walk down memory lane; an hour long conversation touching on “who gave this to us?” and “where did this one come from” and “why haven’t we thrown this hideous thing out yet” or “is this foam rotting?” There are cracked ornaments from the year the tree fell over on new years morning, and there are hand-made ornaments so hideous and yet so sentimental that we bury them in the interior of the twelve foot tree that will soon adorn my parent’s new home. Their tree tells the story of our entire family—parents, grand-parents, children, grand-children, newlyweds, and first-born children. It is rich story, adorned love and admiration, spanning generations. And so, as I sit and pick out ornaments for our new fake, dinky tree; I find comfort in the fact that this little tree is just the beginning of our own Christmas Story—the first entry in our own time capsule.
The whole experience made me feel inadequate. Growing up, my family always, ALWAYS, had a real tree. My brother and I would spend countless hours in late November and early December trying to convince my parents of the need to get an even bigger and better tree than the year before. When we were really young, we would go to one of those giant tree farms that spread across the countryside to cut our own tree. There was a haywagon shuttle that would drop customers throughout fields of the appropriate height trees. My father still has the rusty yellow handsaw hanging on the wall in our garage that we used to use. And then, when we were done finding the perfect specimen, we’d hope back on the wagon, bind up the tree, share a cup of hot chocolate around the bonfire, and try to stay quiet while my parents figured out how to strap the thing to the top of the station wagon.
Of course, it’s not just buying the tree that is different when you are celebrating your first Christmas on your own—there’s also the question of how to decorate it. There are many schools of thought when it comes to Christmas tree decorating. There are designer Christmas trees with strict color palates, Victorian Christmas trees, Christmas trees with edible garlands, trees with fake birds that look like they are still sitting in the back yard. There are trees with a single ornament in multiple colors; trees covered in ribbons of all widths and textures. Trees with nothing but twinkling lights; and trees with spray glitter paint finishes on the limbs. There are tiny Charlie-Brown Christmas trees that need lots of TLC, and there are mammoth Rockefeller Plaza style trees towering in town squares and office building foyers. There are so many possibilities, but it wasn’t until a few weeks ago when I realized how daunting it is to pick what kind of tree I wanted to have.
The daunting part is not choosing which brand of ornament to buy or which stores to check. It is the realization that the kind of tree I want isn’t available by mail order or even at the Pier One I walk past on my way to work. To me, decorating a our Christmas tree is not about making an interior design statement—it is about capturing the memories and moments of Christmas after Christmas, and memorializing those moments for years to come. My parents still have the faded plain red globe ornaments they bought to fill the empty spaces on their first Christmas tree. They have every ornament my mother’s students gave her, and every non-perishable craft ornament my brother and I made at elementary school holiday parties. There are ornaments that use our school pictures, and ornaments that reflect the various hobbies my brother and I picked up over the course of our childhood, from playing the trumpet to collecting rubber duckies, there are ornaments to capture them all. And there is even a doilie angel with tinsel hair that I made as a present to my mom in pre-school.
My parents tree has always been a time capsule, in that regard. Trimming the tree involves a walk down memory lane; an hour long conversation touching on “who gave this to us?” and “where did this one come from” and “why haven’t we thrown this hideous thing out yet” or “is this foam rotting?” There are cracked ornaments from the year the tree fell over on new years morning, and there are hand-made ornaments so hideous and yet so sentimental that we bury them in the interior of the twelve foot tree that will soon adorn my parent’s new home. Their tree tells the story of our entire family—parents, grand-parents, children, grand-children, newlyweds, and first-born children. It is rich story, adorned love and admiration, spanning generations. And so, as I sit and pick out ornaments for our new fake, dinky tree; I find comfort in the fact that this little tree is just the beginning of our own Christmas Story—the first entry in our own time capsule.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Channeling the Big O – and It Ain’t What You Think.
In light of a wonderful GM dysfunctional family Thanksgiving, I thought I would take a page from Oprah, gratitude journal-style circa 1998, and let you all know what I’m thankful for this year. ‘Cause I’m pretty sure you all give a flying rat’s….
Girl Fairway. Okay, I will always have to start with this one. I’m sure this will drive lots of people batty, but first on the list this year has got to be the dog. I’ve had to contain myself from writing about her every week so far (good job GM!), but I can’t take it any more. For those of you out there who think you have a great dog, well good for you, but your poochie’s got nothing on Girl Fairway. The love of my life is a 3 year-old (3 already, wow! Well, not quite 3. She shares a birthday with the Reverend Doctor, so she’s got a month+ to go) golden, lab, chow, akita mix. If you’re into mixes, this is the Cosmopolitan of dogs. The Cactus Cantina Margarita of dogs. The Dom and OJ, fresh-squeezed, organic, and FedExed-overnight from Florida, of dogs. She doesn’t bark, she doesn’t bite, she doesn’t chew (except for G’s coffee table and GM BFF’s Mac cord, but chalk those indiscretions up to puppy-hood. She had to pretend she wasn’t perfect), doesn’t need a leash, and she doesn’t jump up on the furniture unless given permission. Even then she acts like it just doesn’t feel right. Final Thankful Conclusion: GirlFairway is the Best Dog Ever.
The Final Production of the Girl Monday High School Drama Department. I live a drama-free life, but it hasn’t always been this way. Over the last year I’ve been involved in enough dramatic productions to fund an entire college theatre department. For the next six years. Let me start by saying I HATE DRAMA. I like to think I moved past that when I moved out of middle school. I really don’t need any more people in my life who don’t have their shit together, and I really don’t need anyone in my life who has the emotional maturity of an eight-year old. Sorry sexy stud that I dated last year, the bitch fits you would throw because I didn’t call you back immediately and the accusations you laid on me because you were always thinking I wanted to stop seeing you and the questions you always had for me when I went out to lunch with male coworkers or to the eye doctor (the eye doctor?! He’s like 40!) – all of those things led to your demise. See ya. I am now drama-free! Final Thankful Conclusion: Trust your instincts. If it smells like shit, no matter how nice, cute, and funny it is, it’s probably shit.
Family. I’ve written about them before so there’s not much else I can add, and it’s probably too late to make them sound functional (i.e., lie), so I’ll just say I’m thankful for every single dadblame (who says this anymore?! Me I guess) one of them. Especially the ones of them that did not grace my Thanksgiving dinner on Saturday night. Thank you, thank you, thank you! At close to 400 pounds we used to be able to entice you to join us based on the mere presence of food alone, but since you’ve grown up (i.e., become eligible to be tried as an adult), you only come for holidays that involve cash. And for this we are all grateful (mainly because you would have a starring role in the GM HS DD’s winter production of Les Miserables, but in reality there are many reasons). Final Thankful Conclusion: Love them or love avoiding them, they still share my DNA. Just don’t tell anyone……
Dookie Love. I am lucky enough to have found many great loves in my life (and re-found a few here and there along the way) including Krispy Kremes, Starbucks, the Vols, GirlFairway (ooops, did I mention her again?),ice cream, soccer, and shoes. But that crap isn’t important at all. I can walk away from the shoes. I can, really. All love isn’t romantic (and some of the greatest love isn’t), and I have some of the best friends a GM could ask for and most of them I found in grad. school (I did not, simultaneously, find a love for Duke basketball or free ipods, if you’re wondering). This last year has brought many opportunities for Dookie love: the marriage of two people we enjoyed watching fall in love and whom we all believe will be together forever and the intense tragedy surrounding the death of one of my favorite people’s favorite person. This last year has also made me thankful for second chances, as I have enjoyed reconnecting with several friends who had almost slipped out of my life. I cannot live without any of my Dookies. Except maybe Kempe (nothing says nasty like a breast-feeding swinger) or Marissa….. Or Kim……….. Final Thankful Conclusion: If you can’t be with the ones you love, write letters, make phone calls, text, buy last-minute plane tickets, and dump the ones you’re with.
Girl Fairway. Okay, I will always have to start with this one. I’m sure this will drive lots of people batty, but first on the list this year has got to be the dog. I’ve had to contain myself from writing about her every week so far (good job GM!), but I can’t take it any more. For those of you out there who think you have a great dog, well good for you, but your poochie’s got nothing on Girl Fairway. The love of my life is a 3 year-old (3 already, wow! Well, not quite 3. She shares a birthday with the Reverend Doctor, so she’s got a month+ to go) golden, lab, chow, akita mix. If you’re into mixes, this is the Cosmopolitan of dogs. The Cactus Cantina Margarita of dogs. The Dom and OJ, fresh-squeezed, organic, and FedExed-overnight from Florida, of dogs. She doesn’t bark, she doesn’t bite, she doesn’t chew (except for G’s coffee table and GM BFF’s Mac cord, but chalk those indiscretions up to puppy-hood. She had to pretend she wasn’t perfect), doesn’t need a leash, and she doesn’t jump up on the furniture unless given permission. Even then she acts like it just doesn’t feel right. Final Thankful Conclusion: GirlFairway is the Best Dog Ever.
The Final Production of the Girl Monday High School Drama Department. I live a drama-free life, but it hasn’t always been this way. Over the last year I’ve been involved in enough dramatic productions to fund an entire college theatre department. For the next six years. Let me start by saying I HATE DRAMA. I like to think I moved past that when I moved out of middle school. I really don’t need any more people in my life who don’t have their shit together, and I really don’t need anyone in my life who has the emotional maturity of an eight-year old. Sorry sexy stud that I dated last year, the bitch fits you would throw because I didn’t call you back immediately and the accusations you laid on me because you were always thinking I wanted to stop seeing you and the questions you always had for me when I went out to lunch with male coworkers or to the eye doctor (the eye doctor?! He’s like 40!) – all of those things led to your demise. See ya. I am now drama-free! Final Thankful Conclusion: Trust your instincts. If it smells like shit, no matter how nice, cute, and funny it is, it’s probably shit.
Family. I’ve written about them before so there’s not much else I can add, and it’s probably too late to make them sound functional (i.e., lie), so I’ll just say I’m thankful for every single dadblame (who says this anymore?! Me I guess) one of them. Especially the ones of them that did not grace my Thanksgiving dinner on Saturday night. Thank you, thank you, thank you! At close to 400 pounds we used to be able to entice you to join us based on the mere presence of food alone, but since you’ve grown up (i.e., become eligible to be tried as an adult), you only come for holidays that involve cash. And for this we are all grateful (mainly because you would have a starring role in the GM HS DD’s winter production of Les Miserables, but in reality there are many reasons). Final Thankful Conclusion: Love them or love avoiding them, they still share my DNA. Just don’t tell anyone……
Dookie Love. I am lucky enough to have found many great loves in my life (and re-found a few here and there along the way) including Krispy Kremes, Starbucks, the Vols, GirlFairway (ooops, did I mention her again?),ice cream, soccer, and shoes. But that crap isn’t important at all. I can walk away from the shoes. I can, really. All love isn’t romantic (and some of the greatest love isn’t), and I have some of the best friends a GM could ask for and most of them I found in grad. school (I did not, simultaneously, find a love for Duke basketball or free ipods, if you’re wondering). This last year has brought many opportunities for Dookie love: the marriage of two people we enjoyed watching fall in love and whom we all believe will be together forever and the intense tragedy surrounding the death of one of my favorite people’s favorite person. This last year has also made me thankful for second chances, as I have enjoyed reconnecting with several friends who had almost slipped out of my life. I cannot live without any of my Dookies. Except maybe Kempe (nothing says nasty like a breast-feeding swinger) or Marissa….. Or Kim……….. Final Thankful Conclusion: If you can’t be with the ones you love, write letters, make phone calls, text, buy last-minute plane tickets, and dump the ones you’re with.
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