I tried to go to sleep early last night -- I was exhausted -- but still managed to lie awake tossing and turning for what seemed like hours, and then the alarm went off way too early. And then I got into work -- where my big project for the week is to clean out and organize old case files from one of the file rooms that they're planning on turning into more office space. Of course, I felt singularly unmotivated all day -- and got next to nothing done.
If I really think about it, it's probably the perfect project for me right now, considering that my head's all consumed with the condo-purchasing slated for the end of the week. Still, I'm not rushing to go dig through all of those boxes. So what I need is some kind of motivation -- something to coax myself into getting through all of the crappy work by the end of the day on Thursday. But I'm out of ideas. I mean, usually my motivation would include some kind of shopping, but I am on a budget. (And I mean it this time!) Clearly I need help. So if anyone can give me pointers on how they convince themselves to get through boring, monotonous, and menial work projects, I'd appreciate it.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
21st Century Communication
When I left for college -- back in the stone ages -- email was just beginning to be a common tool of communication, and there was no Facebook, no MySpace, not even Friendster. There were some people with whom I kept in touch with by letters and the occasional phone call, and maybe would occasionally see if we were all in the same place at the same time -- but over the years, even with the best of intentions, I've lost touch with most people.
So, as I've noted, I signed up for Facebook this spring, and now I have an obsessive love-hate relationship with it. I love how all of a sudden, through this electronic medium, I am able to keep up with the goings-on of so many of my friends from high school and college. I love being able to see the pictures of my friends' kids, and to hear about their engagements and the like. It really makes the world seem a whole lot smaller.
But there's a cost: I hate how I spend so much of my day paying attention to the goings-on of people who, until now, I only thought about when I got an email or looked through an old photo album. The past really is a great distraction from the present.
So, as I've noted, I signed up for Facebook this spring, and now I have an obsessive love-hate relationship with it. I love how all of a sudden, through this electronic medium, I am able to keep up with the goings-on of so many of my friends from high school and college. I love being able to see the pictures of my friends' kids, and to hear about their engagements and the like. It really makes the world seem a whole lot smaller.
But there's a cost: I hate how I spend so much of my day paying attention to the goings-on of people who, until now, I only thought about when I got an email or looked through an old photo album. The past really is a great distraction from the present.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
A fond farewell
I've lived in my apartment for roughly five years longer than I was planning on staying when I first moved in. It was supposed to be a stop-gap -- and now, six years later, I am finally leaving.
I remember going to look at the apartment with my mom, and how blown away we were at the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. Of course, it was mid-May, so we had no clue about how cold it would be to sit near those same windows in the winter, or how stifling the apartment would get from the western exposure during the summer.
We also loved the giant walk-in closet in between the bedroom to the bathroom. At the time, my mother had no idea how bad my shopping habit was becoming -- and that it would eventually end in a closet calamity.
I moved into the apartment on July 27, 2002. I was pretty much completely moved-in within a week -- once the desk and bookcases got delivered -- because I got tired of tripping over boxes -- and let's be honest, apart from clothing, shoes, books, and CDs, I really don't have all that much stuff. And then I bought a little bit of furniture -- a coffee table, a kitchen table, and eventually, a new frame for the futon that serves as my sofa -- which were the first pieces of "grown-up" furniture that I owned. Somehow it all managed to fit in the neat little 750 square feet, although more often than not, I wished for more room -- a guest room, more closet space, a pantry.
In just over one week, I will be closing on the new condo -- which will have all of the things that I wanted, and then some -- HELLO, second bathroom, linen closet, and sunroom! And, in some weird synchronicity, it will be almost six years to the day since I moved into the apartment.
I will miss this apartment.
I remember going to look at the apartment with my mom, and how blown away we were at the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. Of course, it was mid-May, so we had no clue about how cold it would be to sit near those same windows in the winter, or how stifling the apartment would get from the western exposure during the summer.
We also loved the giant walk-in closet in between the bedroom to the bathroom. At the time, my mother had no idea how bad my shopping habit was becoming -- and that it would eventually end in a closet calamity.
I moved into the apartment on July 27, 2002. I was pretty much completely moved-in within a week -- once the desk and bookcases got delivered -- because I got tired of tripping over boxes -- and let's be honest, apart from clothing, shoes, books, and CDs, I really don't have all that much stuff. And then I bought a little bit of furniture -- a coffee table, a kitchen table, and eventually, a new frame for the futon that serves as my sofa -- which were the first pieces of "grown-up" furniture that I owned. Somehow it all managed to fit in the neat little 750 square feet, although more often than not, I wished for more room -- a guest room, more closet space, a pantry.
In just over one week, I will be closing on the new condo -- which will have all of the things that I wanted, and then some -- HELLO, second bathroom, linen closet, and sunroom! And, in some weird synchronicity, it will be almost six years to the day since I moved into the apartment.
I will miss this apartment.
- I will miss the fun times that I've spent here. (I will not miss the Midori stains in the carpet.)
- I will miss my very short commute and easy access to the airport. (I will not miss walking through the mall every day, especially during the Christmas and Cherry Blossom seasons.)
- I will miss having the Harris Teeter and Noodles & Company downstairs, and the DSW next door. (I will not miss how I could not possibly fit ONE MORE ITEM of clothing in the closet.)
- I will miss the baseball players living down the hallway. (Too bad they play for the Nationals, but that's a whole other post. . . .)
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Fashion fate
I left for Chicago right after my offer on the condo was accepted. As a result, I swore to everyone that would listen that I was going to be on a strict budget. There was budget for the hotel, and for food, and for activities -- but no budget for shopping.
Of course, my brother has a close friend who has a boutique in Wicker Park (or is it Bucktown?), and he thought I should go to her store. So off we went. What happened next is a blur. I tried on skirts and jeans and shirts and tops. Some things looked good -- others not so much -- but almost nothing ever fits me right because I am so short. But my brother's friend was not deterred, and kept bringing me new cute things to try. If this was what shopping with a personal shopper is like, then I totally understand why people do it.
Then she brought me a dress -- a simple sundress, spaghetti straps and a slightly empire waist leading into an A-line skirt, made out of a light blue cotton fabric with white polka dots, red roses, and green leaves. The dress was nothing I would have picked out for myself, seeing as I have a closet full of skirts and dresses that I hardly ever wear, telling myself that I am just not a dress person.
I put on the dress, zipped up the back, and stepped out into the store, where my brother sat on the couch, next to the mirror. He looked at me and his face changed. "That is your dress," he said. I knew it too -- and not just because my brother almost never says anything complimentary about the way I look. I knew it the second I pulled up the zipper. It was like the dress had been magically waiting there for me to find.
Of course, the dress was very expensive. There went the budget, before it had really been in effect. But the dress and I were meant to be. It was fate. Kismet.
This morning, after I heard the weather report, I decided to wear the dress to work with a white crocheted sweater -- mostly to cover up my tattoo, but also to protect my arms from the air conditioning. And all day, everyone kept commenting on the dress -- and I kept telling the same story: The dress found me.
Of course, my brother has a close friend who has a boutique in Wicker Park (or is it Bucktown?), and he thought I should go to her store. So off we went. What happened next is a blur. I tried on skirts and jeans and shirts and tops. Some things looked good -- others not so much -- but almost nothing ever fits me right because I am so short. But my brother's friend was not deterred, and kept bringing me new cute things to try. If this was what shopping with a personal shopper is like, then I totally understand why people do it.
Then she brought me a dress -- a simple sundress, spaghetti straps and a slightly empire waist leading into an A-line skirt, made out of a light blue cotton fabric with white polka dots, red roses, and green leaves. The dress was nothing I would have picked out for myself, seeing as I have a closet full of skirts and dresses that I hardly ever wear, telling myself that I am just not a dress person.
I put on the dress, zipped up the back, and stepped out into the store, where my brother sat on the couch, next to the mirror. He looked at me and his face changed. "That is your dress," he said. I knew it too -- and not just because my brother almost never says anything complimentary about the way I look. I knew it the second I pulled up the zipper. It was like the dress had been magically waiting there for me to find.
Of course, the dress was very expensive. There went the budget, before it had really been in effect. But the dress and I were meant to be. It was fate. Kismet.
This morning, after I heard the weather report, I decided to wear the dress to work with a white crocheted sweater -- mostly to cover up my tattoo, but also to protect my arms from the air conditioning. And all day, everyone kept commenting on the dress -- and I kept telling the same story: The dress found me.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Retail economics
On Saturday, I went to the Shakespeare Theatre to see The Imaginary Invalid. We managed to score a parking spot right next door -- right in front of the Penn Quarter Olsson's books -- which, apparently, is now closed.
Now, I'm not going to write a great lament about the demise of the small independent book and music stores -- been there, done that. Besides, that Olsson's location did nothing for me. The cafe was not very large or good, and there was not a lot of room to sit there and read. The books (and CDs) were overpriced, the selection was not great, and a lot of the time, it was just impossible to find what I came in to look for. And in terms of authors/readings/events, other local stores seem to do a way better job.
So, I guess what I am going to say is that it's a matter of economics -- the small stores generally can't compete with the large chains in terms of pricing, so to stay alive, they need to do something else -- or do it better. Like how some smaller coffee shops are doing well, despite the bad economy causing Starbucks to close 600 stores. Maybe the bookstores and record stores should take note.
Now, I'm not going to write a great lament about the demise of the small independent book and music stores -- been there, done that. Besides, that Olsson's location did nothing for me. The cafe was not very large or good, and there was not a lot of room to sit there and read. The books (and CDs) were overpriced, the selection was not great, and a lot of the time, it was just impossible to find what I came in to look for. And in terms of authors/readings/events, other local stores seem to do a way better job.
So, I guess what I am going to say is that it's a matter of economics -- the small stores generally can't compete with the large chains in terms of pricing, so to stay alive, they need to do something else -- or do it better. Like how some smaller coffee shops are doing well, despite the bad economy causing Starbucks to close 600 stores. Maybe the bookstores and record stores should take note.
Doctor Horrible's Sing-Along Blog
On July 15, everyone needs to tune into Doctor Horrible's Sing-Along Blog. It's Joss Whedon, so I would pretty much assume that it would be awesome -- but it's also getting some pretty rave reviews.
Here's the trailer:
Here's the trailer:
Friday, July 11, 2008
New insight as to where I stand with my dad
Last night, I was on the phone with my dad, and somewhere after 20 minutes, the conversation went off the rails in a really unusually disturbing way.
I'm paraphrasing a bit, but here's the essence of the conversation. We were talking about family and communication and then took a detour into talking about custody fights. As I am apt to do, I forgot for a moment, that, for all intents and purposes, my father had almost no relationship with his father after his parents divorced when he was a kid. So I took the position that it's the dad's obligation to fight to be involved in the kid's life.
Then Dad says "I don't know why people get into such messy, horrible custody battles. If it were me, I would just cut my losses and walk away."
Being one of the kids in question, I was a little shocked by this. "Dad, you mean to tell me that, if after you had me, you and mom divorced, and she withheld custody from you, you wouldn't have fought to see me?"
"Your mother would never have been so unreasonable. That's one of the reasons I married her."
"That's not my point. You wouldn't have felt it necessary to have a relationship with your own kid?"
"Not if the mom was using the kid as a weapon -- It's not worth the fight. And I turned out fine without much of a father."
"Yeah, but don't you think that anyone crazy enough to try to exclude the father from their kid's life as punishment might not be the most stable parent."
"Maybe, I guess. But it's messy. Not worth it."
"So you wouldn't have fought for me? Man, you suck. Glad to know where I stand."
"That's not fair."
I'm paraphrasing a bit, but here's the essence of the conversation. We were talking about family and communication and then took a detour into talking about custody fights. As I am apt to do, I forgot for a moment, that, for all intents and purposes, my father had almost no relationship with his father after his parents divorced when he was a kid. So I took the position that it's the dad's obligation to fight to be involved in the kid's life.
Then Dad says "I don't know why people get into such messy, horrible custody battles. If it were me, I would just cut my losses and walk away."
Being one of the kids in question, I was a little shocked by this. "Dad, you mean to tell me that, if after you had me, you and mom divorced, and she withheld custody from you, you wouldn't have fought to see me?"
"Your mother would never have been so unreasonable. That's one of the reasons I married her."
"That's not my point. You wouldn't have felt it necessary to have a relationship with your own kid?"
"Not if the mom was using the kid as a weapon -- It's not worth the fight. And I turned out fine without much of a father."
"Yeah, but don't you think that anyone crazy enough to try to exclude the father from their kid's life as punishment might not be the most stable parent."
"Maybe, I guess. But it's messy. Not worth it."
"So you wouldn't have fought for me? Man, you suck. Glad to know where I stand."
"That's not fair."
Public Service
Not only is it Free Slurpee Day -- 7/11, get it? -- but it's also Cow Appreciation Day.
This is how Chick-fil-A celebrates:
This is how Chick-fil-A celebrates:
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Screaming people are more annoying than stupid people
Last night, on Metro on the way home from the ballpark, I caught a "special" blue line train to Virginia from L'Enfant Plaza on the upstairs yellow line platform. To me, this seemed perfectly normal.
Other people were confused. They thought the train was going to go all the way around on the normal circuitous blue line route -- clearly not understanding that, from the upstairs platform, the only thing the train could do is cross the bridge straight to the Pentagon. Or they didn't understand that, at least from Pentagon to King Street, the blue line and the yellow line run on the same route.
Of course, I don't really care what other people do. If they're dumb enough or confused enough, it's their problem, and as far as I'm concerned, they can wait to get on the next yellow line train.
I must be in the minority. Some crazy ass lady on the train with me stuck her head out the door of the train and started yelling at people, trying to explain to them how the train was going to work. And while most of the people tried to ignore the crazy screaming, some of the previously confused people actually allowed themselves to be browbeaten into getting onto a train even though they weren't entirely sure where it would wind up.
Of course, the small percentage of train converts was not enough for the crazy lady. She moved on to the next door and started screaming louder and more insistently. And as they held the train for about four minutes, she went back and forth from the one door to the other screaming at people.
I felt embarrassed for the man that was with her. I felt embarrassed for the people that she treated as stupid children. I felt embarrassed for the crazy lady who looked, well, crazy.
But in addition to being embarrassed, I was annoyed. I hate screaming people. But it's more than that: I hate people that don't quietly mind their own business.
But mostly, I didn't see the point -- and I still don't. Why run around like a crazy person, screaming at people who have nothing to do with you? If they're confused, it's their obligation to try to figure it out. And if they're too dumb, well, that can't really be fixed anyway.
Other people were confused. They thought the train was going to go all the way around on the normal circuitous blue line route -- clearly not understanding that, from the upstairs platform, the only thing the train could do is cross the bridge straight to the Pentagon. Or they didn't understand that, at least from Pentagon to King Street, the blue line and the yellow line run on the same route.
Of course, I don't really care what other people do. If they're dumb enough or confused enough, it's their problem, and as far as I'm concerned, they can wait to get on the next yellow line train.
I must be in the minority. Some crazy ass lady on the train with me stuck her head out the door of the train and started yelling at people, trying to explain to them how the train was going to work. And while most of the people tried to ignore the crazy screaming, some of the previously confused people actually allowed themselves to be browbeaten into getting onto a train even though they weren't entirely sure where it would wind up.
Of course, the small percentage of train converts was not enough for the crazy lady. She moved on to the next door and started screaming louder and more insistently. And as they held the train for about four minutes, she went back and forth from the one door to the other screaming at people.
I felt embarrassed for the man that was with her. I felt embarrassed for the people that she treated as stupid children. I felt embarrassed for the crazy lady who looked, well, crazy.
But in addition to being embarrassed, I was annoyed. I hate screaming people. But it's more than that: I hate people that don't quietly mind their own business.
But mostly, I didn't see the point -- and I still don't. Why run around like a crazy person, screaming at people who have nothing to do with you? If they're confused, it's their obligation to try to figure it out. And if they're too dumb, well, that can't really be fixed anyway.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Lacking motivation
I got back from Chicago last night and pretty much went straight to my softball game. (I scored a run AND had an RBI, thank you very much.) When I got home, instead of working on my mortgage paperwork or unpacking and doing laundry, I goofed around on Facebook.
Today, instead of working on my mortgage paperwork or unpacking and doing laundry, I went to the baseball game with an old friend from law school.
I am feeling exquisitely unmotivated -- and as a result, unproductive. I need someone or something to get me motivated -- to provide that kick in the butt.
Today, instead of working on my mortgage paperwork or unpacking and doing laundry, I went to the baseball game with an old friend from law school.
I am feeling exquisitely unmotivated -- and as a result, unproductive. I need someone or something to get me motivated -- to provide that kick in the butt.
Thursday, July 03, 2008
Cakes, cookies, bacon, and tattoos: 24 hours with my brother
Right now, my brother's neighbors are outside lighting off fireworks and talking really loudly in Spanish. The fireworks -- not the Spanish -- is driving most of the neighborhood dogs crazy, but my brother's roommate's dog is as cool as a cucumber.
So far, it's been a pretty busy 24 hours. Last night, after my flight landed, we went straight from the train station to grab food and then out to a bar where a bunch of my brother's friends seem to hang out. He knew about half the people in the bar, one of whom was painting glow-in-the-dark fake tattoos on people.
Here's mine:
I sort-of wanted to keep it, but eventually, my brother managed to convince me to shower.
This morning, we went for brunch at this awesome bakery that had the coolest cakes ever in the display window out front.
Then we went shopping, and on the way, saw this sign, which I thought was funny, and which my brother thought was perfectly normal:
I think I'm dedicating the picture to Jordan Baker, who seems to be obsessed with bacon.
Oh, and the shopping -- we went to Chinatown so my brother could pick up some kind of herbal medicine -- which loosely translates to the "Four Horsemen" and is meant to cure his spleen. No kidding. I got a bunch of fortune cookies -- normal and chocolate -- and fresh baked almond cookies -- all for under $3.00. And a picture of Confucius.
You know what would go perfectly with fresh-baked almond cookies? Green tea gelato. I'm gonna work on that as soon as I get an ice cream maker.
So far, it's been a pretty busy 24 hours. Last night, after my flight landed, we went straight from the train station to grab food and then out to a bar where a bunch of my brother's friends seem to hang out. He knew about half the people in the bar, one of whom was painting glow-in-the-dark fake tattoos on people.
Here's mine:
I sort-of wanted to keep it, but eventually, my brother managed to convince me to shower.
This morning, we went for brunch at this awesome bakery that had the coolest cakes ever in the display window out front.
Then we went shopping, and on the way, saw this sign, which I thought was funny, and which my brother thought was perfectly normal:
I think I'm dedicating the picture to Jordan Baker, who seems to be obsessed with bacon.
Oh, and the shopping -- we went to Chinatown so my brother could pick up some kind of herbal medicine -- which loosely translates to the "Four Horsemen" and is meant to cure his spleen. No kidding. I got a bunch of fortune cookies -- normal and chocolate -- and fresh baked almond cookies -- all for under $3.00. And a picture of Confucius.
You know what would go perfectly with fresh-baked almond cookies? Green tea gelato. I'm gonna work on that as soon as I get an ice cream maker.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
The other side of the coin
When it rains, it pours. There are other volumes in my ex-files, and one just texted me to see if I was going to be in his city anytime soon.
I don't know what self-destructive demon momentarily possessed my brain, but for some unknown reason, I responded -- all too honestly -- that I was going to be in the vicinity this weekend, but that I was going to be busy.
He just texted me back: "Give me a call if you have time."
I don't know what self-destructive demon momentarily possessed my brain, but for some unknown reason, I responded -- all too honestly -- that I was going to be in the vicinity this weekend, but that I was going to be busy.
He just texted me back: "Give me a call if you have time."
Monday, June 30, 2008
Ghosts of the past
This afternoon, someone shared with me some news about one of my ex-boyfriends -- good news -- and then, seemed somewhat surprised that I hadn't already heard directly. Then they asked if I wanted to see the email. And my honest, instinctive answer was no -- even though there was that little ping of curiosity in the back of my mind. I think it's the same thing that makes people check the newspaper for wedding announcements or read their exes' blogs. But ultimately, he is so far out of my orbit at this time -- and I am so far out of his -- that I don't feel the need to test the gravitational pulls.
This may sound like maturity, but it's not, really. It's selfishness or self-centeredness or something similar. I wish him the best, but I don't really care about the details. I certainly don't care enough to call or write, and don't expect it in return. Velvet used a phrase that I liked today -- "It's someone else's problem now." Amen.
This may sound like maturity, but it's not, really. It's selfishness or self-centeredness or something similar. I wish him the best, but I don't really care about the details. I certainly don't care enough to call or write, and don't expect it in return. Velvet used a phrase that I liked today -- "It's someone else's problem now." Amen.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Amazing powers of observation
Friday morning, on the way into work, I was on the escalator coming out of the Metro station, and I looked down and noticed some girl's sandals.
My first thought was "Those are really cute and they look comfortable."
The second thought was "Oh, they're Tevas."
The third thought was "I am wearing the exact same shoes."
My first thought was "Those are really cute and they look comfortable."
The second thought was "Oh, they're Tevas."
The third thought was "I am wearing the exact same shoes."
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Small world, courtesy of Facebook
The world is shrinking, my friends.
I've had this blog for just about two and a half years now, and I've been reading other blogs for about that same amount of time. There are some bloggers that I started following pretty much since day one, my virtual friends, if you will. But since I haven't gone to any happy hours or met up with any of my fellow bloggers, they are just that -- virtual acquaintances. Even if I do have them on my blogroll, subscribe to their RSS feeds, accept their MySpace friend requests, follow them on Twitter, and correspond with them via comments just about as often as I talk to my "real" friends (sometimes even more).
I signed up for Facebook this spring. All of my "friends" are people that I actually do know in the meatspace: friends, former classmates, former coworkers and the like.
Today, on Facebook, I saw a notification about someone that I have known for pretty much forever, from someone else in the "Washington DC" Network. So, out of curiosity, I clicked on the profile and saw a wall post from a blogger that I have followed pretty much since Day 1. Apparently, all this time, I've been two degrees separated from this person in real life.
This, of course, is causing me to reconsider my stance on whether I should actually meet up with the other bloggers that I correspond with. I mean, at a minimum, I am quite sure that I would have had a grand old time hanging out with Paige Jennifer and Ryane last weekend.
I've had this blog for just about two and a half years now, and I've been reading other blogs for about that same amount of time. There are some bloggers that I started following pretty much since day one, my virtual friends, if you will. But since I haven't gone to any happy hours or met up with any of my fellow bloggers, they are just that -- virtual acquaintances. Even if I do have them on my blogroll, subscribe to their RSS feeds, accept their MySpace friend requests, follow them on Twitter, and correspond with them via comments just about as often as I talk to my "real" friends (sometimes even more).
I signed up for Facebook this spring. All of my "friends" are people that I actually do know in the meatspace: friends, former classmates, former coworkers and the like.
Today, on Facebook, I saw a notification about someone that I have known for pretty much forever, from someone else in the "Washington DC" Network. So, out of curiosity, I clicked on the profile and saw a wall post from a blogger that I have followed pretty much since Day 1. Apparently, all this time, I've been two degrees separated from this person in real life.
This, of course, is causing me to reconsider my stance on whether I should actually meet up with the other bloggers that I correspond with. I mean, at a minimum, I am quite sure that I would have had a grand old time hanging out with Paige Jennifer and Ryane last weekend.
Choosing my family
This morning, one of my mom's best friends called. It was the first time I had spoken with her since the week of my mother's funeral, and we caught up for about half an hour. It was really nice to talk to someone that I've known my entire life, who is like an aunt to me. (Point of reference: Her daughter was the first baby my dad ever held.)
That was my first thought, anyway. My second thought was that it sucks that my own aunt, my mother's sister, hasn't spoken to me since my mother's funeral either. And she hasn't shown any signs of calling.
Anyway, in talking to my dad tonight, between all the condo news (made an offer, hasn't been accepted or rejected or countered -- yet), I told my dad about the phone call with mom's friend, and how lovely it was. And then I said that, for lack of a better word, I am angry with my aunt -- not to mention offended -- but that I know there's nothing I can do about it.
So, what this boils down to is: I acknowledge my anger. And I hereby compartmentalize it. My aunt can call me or not. As far as I'm concerned, from now on, my family is who I choose for it to be. My mom's friend is most definitely in.
That was my first thought, anyway. My second thought was that it sucks that my own aunt, my mother's sister, hasn't spoken to me since my mother's funeral either. And she hasn't shown any signs of calling.
Anyway, in talking to my dad tonight, between all the condo news (made an offer, hasn't been accepted or rejected or countered -- yet), I told my dad about the phone call with mom's friend, and how lovely it was. And then I said that, for lack of a better word, I am angry with my aunt -- not to mention offended -- but that I know there's nothing I can do about it.
So, what this boils down to is: I acknowledge my anger. And I hereby compartmentalize it. My aunt can call me or not. As far as I'm concerned, from now on, my family is who I choose for it to be. My mom's friend is most definitely in.
I am a shoe addict
Honeykbee asked for more shoes, and I like to give people what they want. Before I got on the whole budget kick, I bought these:
Yes, kids -- they are brown and teal snakeskin. And I have absolutely no idea what to wear them with. But I got them on sale, which makes everything okay.
Yes, kids -- they are brown and teal snakeskin. And I have absolutely no idea what to wear them with. But I got them on sale, which makes everything okay.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Budgetary concerns
So I think I'm making an offer on a condo tomorrow. I'm not sure if I'll be able to get it for what I want to pay for it, but I'm going to try. And I'm very nervous. It's a lot of money. And, at least for the first couple of months, my budget will be very very tight. I think I'm going to have to stop buying shoes. And clothes. And bags. And hats (like this one, which, along with t-shirt that says "Captain Awesome," is what I happen to be wearing as I type this).
As someone who has never really been on a budget in her entire life, this is going to be a challenge. I don't even know where to start. I mean, I probably should have started a while ago. Like I didn't really need to buy a new dress this week. And maybe I should be learning to be less of a food snob -- for example, I can go back to buying cheese at the grocery store instead of at Cowgirl Creamery.
Maybe I should get a roommate.
As someone who has never really been on a budget in her entire life, this is going to be a challenge. I don't even know where to start. I mean, I probably should have started a while ago. Like I didn't really need to buy a new dress this week. And maybe I should be learning to be less of a food snob -- for example, I can go back to buying cheese at the grocery store instead of at Cowgirl Creamery.
Maybe I should get a roommate.
Monday, June 23, 2008
George Carlin
The first thing I read this morning was the news about George Carlin, who, for as long as I can remember, was my favorite comic. And not just because he was in Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure -- one of my favorite movies -- but because he was, at heart, a grammarian. He is one of the first people who got me thinking about words -- sometimes the dirty ones -- in a deeper way.
Here's a story: In 11th grade, some friends and I made a movie. It started out as a bunch of planned out sketches, but eventually broke down into us roaming around the halls, videotaping whatever amused us at the time. And in a tribute to Heathers, we decided to take lunchtime polls. This was right after I discovered George Carlin. So my contribution to the poll questions was first to steal "Why do you park on a driveway and drive on a parkway?" and later, continuing down the linguistic path, to open to random pages of the dictionary and to ask people to come up with definitions of the more unusual words.
Here's a story: In 11th grade, some friends and I made a movie. It started out as a bunch of planned out sketches, but eventually broke down into us roaming around the halls, videotaping whatever amused us at the time. And in a tribute to Heathers, we decided to take lunchtime polls. This was right after I discovered George Carlin. So my contribution to the poll questions was first to steal "Why do you park on a driveway and drive on a parkway?" and later, continuing down the linguistic path, to open to random pages of the dictionary and to ask people to come up with definitions of the more unusual words.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
The Washington Post is reading my thoughts
From yesterday's Washington Post:
For the record, I have this exact thought all summer long.
. . . girlfriends and spouses who look at [men without shirts] and think: That's just unfair. A woman can't strip to her waist, not without breaking the law anyway. And even if a woman is willing to break the law, nobody would consider her shirtless. She'd be considered topless. There is no such thing as a shirtless woman, just like there's no such thing as a topless man.
For the record, I have this exact thought all summer long.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
My priorities are skewed
Last night, the fire alarm went off at 2 am. I got up, turned on the light, looked around my apartment, and went right back to sleep. With the alarm blaring.
In all honesty, I took inventory of the situation and decided that the sleep was more important. And I didn't want to put on pants and shoes.
I am glad there was no fire.
In all honesty, I took inventory of the situation and decided that the sleep was more important. And I didn't want to put on pants and shoes.
I am glad there was no fire.
Monday, June 16, 2008
The elaborate and strange workings of my subconscious mind
For the first time in what seems like a thousand years, last night, my mother was in my dream. I was on a trip, somewhere exotic (possibly Southeast Asian or Middle Eastern), and I was in a hotel -- which was reminiscent of some that I had stayed in in Morocco: a little shabby and worn looking, but a perfectly sufficient place to sleep.
In any event, I checked into the hotel, and went up to the room to sit and wait for my mother. I was waiting, and waiting, and kept on washing my hands. As I waited, the rest of the family arrived there too -- my sister and brother, Nana and Pop. Finally, my mother and father arrived, and I was so happy to see her. She told me that I looked beautiful, she had missed me, and the room was a disaster and would never do.
And then I woke up -- late for work.
I remember the dream as vividly as I do most reality -- more so than, for example, her funeral. Which, if you think about it, is actually kind of weird.
One of the last times I saw my mom was in a hotel. I met up with her and my Nana and aunt last fall in Rhode Island, for my cousin's wedding. The four of us shared a room in the historic Biltmore. It was not the best trip for my mom, who, at least for the past few years, was not a good traveler. And my mom, for some reason, was disappointed with the room. (But not the bed, which was fabulous! After the wedding, the four of us watched the Red Sox wrap up the World Series in those comfy beds.)
Anyway, earlier tonight, my Nana called. I didn't tell her about the dream, though. Instead we had a nice normal conversation -- until she asked me if I was angry with my mom for dying. The tears started pouring out of my eyes before I even knew what happened.
Am I angry? Maybe -- maybe not. Disappointed and sad are more accurate. What I do know is that I'm trying not to dwell, because fundamentally, I understand that this is my reality -- it's just the way things are, and I can't change it. I also know that I just spent two weeks on vacation, thinking about how I would have loved to tell my mom about some of the things I saw and did. I would have loved to have asked her where she lived when she lived in Hollywood, so I could have gone to find it. And she would have understood about all the wine I bought (and shipped home), unlike, for example, my dad who said that it all tastes the same to him.
So, maybe that's why I'm dreaming about my mom going on vacation with me. Or maybe I just want her to come and visit.
In any event, I checked into the hotel, and went up to the room to sit and wait for my mother. I was waiting, and waiting, and kept on washing my hands. As I waited, the rest of the family arrived there too -- my sister and brother, Nana and Pop. Finally, my mother and father arrived, and I was so happy to see her. She told me that I looked beautiful, she had missed me, and the room was a disaster and would never do.
And then I woke up -- late for work.
I remember the dream as vividly as I do most reality -- more so than, for example, her funeral. Which, if you think about it, is actually kind of weird.
One of the last times I saw my mom was in a hotel. I met up with her and my Nana and aunt last fall in Rhode Island, for my cousin's wedding. The four of us shared a room in the historic Biltmore. It was not the best trip for my mom, who, at least for the past few years, was not a good traveler. And my mom, for some reason, was disappointed with the room. (But not the bed, which was fabulous! After the wedding, the four of us watched the Red Sox wrap up the World Series in those comfy beds.)
Anyway, earlier tonight, my Nana called. I didn't tell her about the dream, though. Instead we had a nice normal conversation -- until she asked me if I was angry with my mom for dying. The tears started pouring out of my eyes before I even knew what happened.
Am I angry? Maybe -- maybe not. Disappointed and sad are more accurate. What I do know is that I'm trying not to dwell, because fundamentally, I understand that this is my reality -- it's just the way things are, and I can't change it. I also know that I just spent two weeks on vacation, thinking about how I would have loved to tell my mom about some of the things I saw and did. I would have loved to have asked her where she lived when she lived in Hollywood, so I could have gone to find it. And she would have understood about all the wine I bought (and shipped home), unlike, for example, my dad who said that it all tastes the same to him.
So, maybe that's why I'm dreaming about my mom going on vacation with me. Or maybe I just want her to come and visit.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Get off of my lawn!
There were annoying tourist kids on Metro tonight when I was on my way home. And it was really late for me, which means it was way too late for kids to be making tons of noise while their parents ignore how they're twirling around on the poles as if they were practicing their routines for when they eventually become strippers in their inevitably sad and pathetic adult lives.
Suddenly, I had this great idea for a t-shirt. On the front it says "I don't hate all children. . . " and on the back it says ". . . Just Yours." I think I'm going to submit it to Threadless.
Anyway, that's when the train stopped and one of the twirling children fell. And shrieked. I laughed out loud. I couldn't help it. I guess I'm an asshole.
Suddenly, I had this great idea for a t-shirt. On the front it says "I don't hate all children. . . " and on the back it says ". . . Just Yours." I think I'm going to submit it to Threadless.
Anyway, that's when the train stopped and one of the twirling children fell. And shrieked. I laughed out loud. I couldn't help it. I guess I'm an asshole.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Dumped for Obama
On my way home from work, on Metro, I formulated a plan to write a whole big political/tax-geek thing about the failed attempt on a windfall profits tax on the oil industry. But then I got home and realized that I don't really write about politics anymore. People think that I can't because of work, but that's not really true. The truth is that I don't because I just don't have it in me anymore. Things are a mess and our elected officials keep going in circles, which gets us nowhere. And gas prices are over $4.00 a gallon. It's depressing.
But then Caroline sent me this, which made me laugh. And calmed me down. So here it is:
But then Caroline sent me this, which made me laugh. And calmed me down. So here it is:
Monday, June 09, 2008
Vacation perspective
The worst part about coming back from vacation is the sudden transition back to real life. And I'm not just talking about having to unpack, do laundry, pay bills, and go to work -- it's the shifting away from doing only those things you want to doing the things that have to get done.
My reintroduction to my real life was exceptionally distressing: I came back to a heat wave and a malfunctioning air conditioner. All day yesterday, my apartment hovered around 85 degrees. Of course, after the overnight flight, I was pretty much too tired to care, so I did my laundry, watched baseball, and tried to sleep in the sweltering heat -- which, on the most part, was insufferable. But lucky for me, I live in a place with maintenance. So they fixed it. But if I lived in a hotel, they would have moved me to another room last night.
And then there's the whole working thing. Most of the time, I like what I do for a living, but I'd rather be living off a trust fund, traveling across the world. So having to go back to actually doing stuff kind of sucks, in its own way.
I've decided though, that there are some vacation-type things that are going to stick. I'm going to try to drink wine on a semi-regular basis, instead of just at fancy dinners. I'm going to try to go to interesting places and do interesting things on the weekends, and not just run errands. But mostly, every day, I'm going to try to have a sense of wonder about the things that are around me.
Like when I was watching the Foccault Pendulum at the Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles:
Or taking in the desolate landscape at Pebble Beach:
Or watching the Sea Lions at Pier 39 in San Francisco:
Or noticing how the butterflies on display at the Conservatory of Flowers just wanted to get outside:
Or listening to the sound of the foghorn at the Golden Gate Bridge:
Or even riding the cable car:
These are the things we ignore or overlook or take for granted every day, but appreciate while on vacation.
My reintroduction to my real life was exceptionally distressing: I came back to a heat wave and a malfunctioning air conditioner. All day yesterday, my apartment hovered around 85 degrees. Of course, after the overnight flight, I was pretty much too tired to care, so I did my laundry, watched baseball, and tried to sleep in the sweltering heat -- which, on the most part, was insufferable. But lucky for me, I live in a place with maintenance. So they fixed it. But if I lived in a hotel, they would have moved me to another room last night.
And then there's the whole working thing. Most of the time, I like what I do for a living, but I'd rather be living off a trust fund, traveling across the world. So having to go back to actually doing stuff kind of sucks, in its own way.
I've decided though, that there are some vacation-type things that are going to stick. I'm going to try to drink wine on a semi-regular basis, instead of just at fancy dinners. I'm going to try to go to interesting places and do interesting things on the weekends, and not just run errands. But mostly, every day, I'm going to try to have a sense of wonder about the things that are around me.
Like when I was watching the Foccault Pendulum at the Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles:
Or taking in the desolate landscape at Pebble Beach:
Or watching the Sea Lions at Pier 39 in San Francisco:
Or noticing how the butterflies on display at the Conservatory of Flowers just wanted to get outside:
Or listening to the sound of the foghorn at the Golden Gate Bridge:
Or even riding the cable car:
These are the things we ignore or overlook or take for granted every day, but appreciate while on vacation.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Lombard Street
I keep meaning to post more videos, but the whole vacation thing keeps getting in the way.
This is what the tourists driving down Lombard Street in San Francisco look like:
And this is what it's like to be one of those tourists driving down Lombard Street:
This is what the tourists driving down Lombard Street in San Francisco look like:
And this is what it's like to be one of those tourists driving down Lombard Street:
Friday, May 30, 2008
Not beach weather
I spent roughly half of my life in Florida. In high school, if I wanted to, I could roll out of bed and, provided one of my parents would loan me a car, be at the beach in 25 minutes. And I'd know what the weather would be like: Sunny and warm in the winter, cloudy and hot in the summer, with an afternoon thunderstorm.
California's weird. I thought that at least the SoCal/beachy parts of this vacation would be sunny and warm. But it's been cold. Really cold. In fact, while walking down to the beach in Carmel today, I had to wear a sweatshirt AND a jacket.
Here's a video from the beach.
California's weird. I thought that at least the SoCal/beachy parts of this vacation would be sunny and warm. But it's been cold. Really cold. In fact, while walking down to the beach in Carmel today, I had to wear a sweatshirt AND a jacket.
Here's a video from the beach.
Santa Barbara Wine Country
We left L.A. today, heading north, first to Santa Barbara and then to the Santa Barbara wine country. We drank a lot of wine. I bought a case of wine. There was a lot of giggling. And then we settled down -- to drink more wine -- in a town with a windmill.
For the record, I did drink Merlot, against my better judgment.
For the record, I did drink Merlot, against my better judgment.
Monday, May 26, 2008
The Joshua Tree . . .
. . . is one of my favorite albums. But it's also a national park.
It looks like this out the car window.
Just kidding. This is my favorite of the 100-ish pictures that I took today.
It looks like this out the car window.
Just kidding. This is my favorite of the 100-ish pictures that I took today.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Beautiful San Diego, plus fireworks
We arrived in San Diego yesterday morning. After losing exactly one blackberry (not mine) and enduring an unbelievably long wait for a rental car, we were on our way.
First stop: La Jolla Cove. We wanted to see the beach. What we got were seals. Lots of seals.
Then, last night, we went to the Padres game. Here's a little video of the fireworks from the post-game.
After what was close to a 24-hour day, we went to sleep at our very posh hotel. This morning, we woke up and went to Coronado.
First the beach:
Then we chased some ducks through downtown:
Then we went out to Balboa Park and relaxed at the Koi pond by the Botanical Garden:
Tomorrow we head out to the desert.
First stop: La Jolla Cove. We wanted to see the beach. What we got were seals. Lots of seals.
Then, last night, we went to the Padres game. Here's a little video of the fireworks from the post-game.
After what was close to a 24-hour day, we went to sleep at our very posh hotel. This morning, we woke up and went to Coronado.
First the beach:
Then we chased some ducks through downtown:
Then we went out to Balboa Park and relaxed at the Koi pond by the Botanical Garden:
Tomorrow we head out to the desert.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Revisiting the '80s
I stumbled across an article in the L.A. Times about how Hall & Oates is having a resurgence of sort.
Personally, I never really thought that they went away. In fact, I still have my tape of Big Bam Boom that I got for my birthday in the 4th grade. I remember watching the Nickelodeon show where they played music videos (I wasn't allowed to watch MTV), hoping that they would play Out of Touch or Method of Modern Love. I still maintain that those songs are awesome. The '80s hair, not so much.
Personally, I never really thought that they went away. In fact, I still have my tape of Big Bam Boom that I got for my birthday in the 4th grade. I remember watching the Nickelodeon show where they played music videos (I wasn't allowed to watch MTV), hoping that they would play Out of Touch or Method of Modern Love. I still maintain that those songs are awesome. The '80s hair, not so much.
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Just a trim
For the last couple of days, I've been thinking that my bangs are too long, and that I probably ought to get my hair cut before I go on vacation. But because this revelation was kind-of last minute, I couldn't get in to my normal -- and comparatively expensive -- salon. Which is probably a good thing, because despite my proclivity for spending a ridiculous amount of money on clothing and shoes and manicures and so-forth, I can't fathom spending $60 or so to get my hair trimmed.
So I went down to the neighborhood Hair Cuttery after work tonight. That was my first mistake.
The second mistake was allowing a girl who barely spoke English and had crooked bangs near my hair with scissors. I told her that I just wanted a trim.
"One inch?"
"No, a trim. Just cut off the ends, keep the layers and the style."
"One inch?"
Rather than argue, I decided to hold up my fingers to indicate about a quarter of an inch.
"Oh, okay." Surprisingly, she followed my instruction.
Then we got to the bangs. "How much cut?"
"Shorter, but not too short, keep them long enough so I can push them to the side. Keep the style, but angle them in. Try to blend them into the layers."
She gestured to her very short and crooked attempt at blunt-cut bangs. "Short like mine?"
I said, "Uh, no," but I was thinking, "Pretty much exactly the opposite."
She then proceeded to part my hair down the center to trim my bangs. She cut about a quarter of an inch off the bottom, and asked me if it was short enough.
Admittedly, I'd rather her leave them too long then have her cut them dangerously short. But that wasn't even close to what I had asked her to do. And I haven't worn my hair parted down the middle in a very long time. So I told her that they don't go like that. And I told her that my hair generally parts on the left. She then proceeded to try to part my hair on the right, and couldn't understand why my bangs didn't want to cooperate.
After watching her fuss with it for a couple of minutes, finally I said, "My hair just doesn't go that way. Do it on the other side."
She ignored me and took the razor to my bangs. Unsurprisingly, my hair was still not cooperative. Finally, she got frustrated and asked me to show her how I do it.
I took the comb, changed the part, and the bangs went right where they were supposed to go. She played with the razor for a little while longer, but really didn't cut much more.
Ultimately, I think I avoided the third mistake, which would have been letting the girl actually cut my hair. In fact, when I left the place, my hair pretty much looked exactly like it did this morning. Thank god it only cost $14.
Of course, I'll have to see what it looks like in the morning.
So I went down to the neighborhood Hair Cuttery after work tonight. That was my first mistake.
The second mistake was allowing a girl who barely spoke English and had crooked bangs near my hair with scissors. I told her that I just wanted a trim.
"One inch?"
"No, a trim. Just cut off the ends, keep the layers and the style."
"One inch?"
Rather than argue, I decided to hold up my fingers to indicate about a quarter of an inch.
"Oh, okay." Surprisingly, she followed my instruction.
Then we got to the bangs. "How much cut?"
"Shorter, but not too short, keep them long enough so I can push them to the side. Keep the style, but angle them in. Try to blend them into the layers."
She gestured to her very short and crooked attempt at blunt-cut bangs. "Short like mine?"
I said, "Uh, no," but I was thinking, "Pretty much exactly the opposite."
She then proceeded to part my hair down the center to trim my bangs. She cut about a quarter of an inch off the bottom, and asked me if it was short enough.
Admittedly, I'd rather her leave them too long then have her cut them dangerously short. But that wasn't even close to what I had asked her to do. And I haven't worn my hair parted down the middle in a very long time. So I told her that they don't go like that. And I told her that my hair generally parts on the left. She then proceeded to try to part my hair on the right, and couldn't understand why my bangs didn't want to cooperate.
After watching her fuss with it for a couple of minutes, finally I said, "My hair just doesn't go that way. Do it on the other side."
She ignored me and took the razor to my bangs. Unsurprisingly, my hair was still not cooperative. Finally, she got frustrated and asked me to show her how I do it.
I took the comb, changed the part, and the bangs went right where they were supposed to go. She played with the razor for a little while longer, but really didn't cut much more.
Ultimately, I think I avoided the third mistake, which would have been letting the girl actually cut my hair. In fact, when I left the place, my hair pretty much looked exactly like it did this morning. Thank god it only cost $14.
Of course, I'll have to see what it looks like in the morning.
Random political thought o' the day
In avoiding anything that has to do with American Idol -- and trying not to watch the Nationals get blown out by the Phillies -- I stumbled across an Obama rally on C-Span tonight, before turning to my DVR and tuning out.
In all honesty, stump speeches bore me to death. But my viewing options were limited, so I watched for a couple of minutes. And compared with a lot of other politicians, he really is a captivating speaker.
The entire time, though, I was thinking about the Washington Post article describing the racist incidents that his campaign has had to endure. And we all probably know at least one person who, despite being otherwise reasonable, believes all the chain emails about him being a radical Muslim or whatnot. (According to the New York Times, this is an epidemic amongst older Jews in South Florida. I personally know at least one South Floridian who, despite being a lifelong Democrat, will vote for McCain over Obama this fall.)
I can't help feeling that it's such a shame that people are so closed-minded.
In all honesty, stump speeches bore me to death. But my viewing options were limited, so I watched for a couple of minutes. And compared with a lot of other politicians, he really is a captivating speaker.
The entire time, though, I was thinking about the Washington Post article describing the racist incidents that his campaign has had to endure. And we all probably know at least one person who, despite being otherwise reasonable, believes all the chain emails about him being a radical Muslim or whatnot. (According to the New York Times, this is an epidemic amongst older Jews in South Florida. I personally know at least one South Floridian who, despite being a lifelong Democrat, will vote for McCain over Obama this fall.)
I can't help feeling that it's such a shame that people are so closed-minded.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Grey hair
Early this morning, my brother texted me to tell me that he was upset because he found a grey hair. He's 28.
I started finding gray hair the week of my college graduation. A lot of them. And since I've given up dyeing my hair for the past two years, I'm at the point that I don't want to even look anymore.
So I texted my brother back, saying that "You complaining about gray hair to me is like me complaining to you about being broke."
I started finding gray hair the week of my college graduation. A lot of them. And since I've given up dyeing my hair for the past two years, I'm at the point that I don't want to even look anymore.
So I texted my brother back, saying that "You complaining about gray hair to me is like me complaining to you about being broke."
What to pack?
I was at work until well after midnight last night, and came home to no internet. Which, in retrospect, was probably a good thing, since I really needed sleep. But what I also need to do is pack for my upcoming vacation, which starts Saturday. (And get a haircut, which is a whole other matter.)
Anyway, in deciding what to pack, I have a quandary: Which dress to wear to the wedding. So I'm asking the audience. Here are your choices:
Anyway, in deciding what to pack, I have a quandary: Which dress to wear to the wedding. So I'm asking the audience. Here are your choices:
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Birthdays
Today would have been my grandfather's 84th birthday. A year ago, the family -- other than my parents, who were away on vacation -- crowded in the ICU, and read him his cards, hoping that things would end well. So much has changed since then, it's hard to wrap my head around it all.
When I started thinking about things, I noticed a strange numerological coincidence that had somehow managed to escape me for the past 32 years: My mom and her father were both born on the 15th; my dad and I were both born on the 27th.
When I started thinking about things, I noticed a strange numerological coincidence that had somehow managed to escape me for the past 32 years: My mom and her father were both born on the 15th; my dad and I were both born on the 27th.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Political horoscopes
I read this L.A. Times article about the presidential candidates' handwriting, and I am of two minds about it. On the one hand, looking at the candidates' handwriting and trying to get a feel for their personalities is somewhat humanizing. The graphic is particularly illustrative: McCain is "intense yet private," Clinton is "controlled, smart and forceful," Obama "deals with different people and situations well."
On another level, handwriting analysis seems akin to analyzing the effect that birth order had on their development -- which is, to say, about as insightful as reading their astrological chart. If you look hard enough, you can find something there to support the inferences that you've already drawn.
But don't take my word for it: I researched the candidate's horoscopes. Here are my conclusions:
This is deep and insightful, right?
On another level, handwriting analysis seems akin to analyzing the effect that birth order had on their development -- which is, to say, about as insightful as reading their astrological chart. If you look hard enough, you can find something there to support the inferences that you've already drawn.
But don't take my word for it: I researched the candidate's horoscopes. Here are my conclusions:
- Obama is a Leo, so he is a "natural born leader", "well organized, idealistic and [has] a knack for inspiring others."
- Clinton is a Scorpio, which means that she's "overbearing," "stubborn" and doesn't "know the word quit."
- McCain is a Virgo, so he's "picky and critical," "exacting," and "practical and logical."
This is deep and insightful, right?
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Oxford Comma
Yesterday, Stuff White People Like noted that white people really like grammar.
Guess that makes me white, because I'm guilty as charged.
But you know what's better than grammar? Songs about punctuation. Specifically, the serial comma:
Guess that makes me white, because I'm guilty as charged.
But you know what's better than grammar? Songs about punctuation. Specifically, the serial comma:
Monday, May 12, 2008
Irony is hard; mocking is easy
If there's one thing I've learned over the past two-plus years, it's that irony requires a deft touch. Especially in written form.
When an author writes about something, and the article turns out to be the best example of the subject, it's not really irony. Well, maybe it's dramatic or situational irony, but it's not truly ironic. And it's not really funny, either.
Case in point: a discourse on the overuse of the word awkward is, for lack of a better word . . . awk-ward.
When an author writes about something, and the article turns out to be the best example of the subject, it's not really irony. Well, maybe it's dramatic or situational irony, but it's not truly ironic. And it's not really funny, either.
Case in point: a discourse on the overuse of the word awkward is, for lack of a better word . . . awk-ward.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Mother-less day
This is the first year that I can remember where I did not buy a Mother's Day card for my mom. I will never buy a Mother's Day card for my mom again. And, for all of these years, all of these cards, I always bought her funny cards -- even though I knew she liked the sappy sweet ones better. I always hated the mushy stuff -- now it's worse than ever.
I managed to mostly avoid being overwhelmed by mother's day stuff today by going to watch a stinky baseball game in the rain. For some reason -- habit, mostly -- I checked out some of the mom-themed postcards on PostSecret, and a couple of them made me tear up. What really got to me, though, is how my Nana said that she put out the cards she got last year from Pop and my mom. I waited until I hung up the phone, but that's when I lost it.
I managed to mostly avoid being overwhelmed by mother's day stuff today by going to watch a stinky baseball game in the rain. For some reason -- habit, mostly -- I checked out some of the mom-themed postcards on PostSecret, and a couple of them made me tear up. What really got to me, though, is how my Nana said that she put out the cards she got last year from Pop and my mom. I waited until I hung up the phone, but that's when I lost it.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
More shoes
These might be the most ridiculous shoes that I've ever purchased:
And yes, I really do need a pedicure.
And yes, I really do need a pedicure.
Thursday, May 08, 2008
Trust vs. Skepticism
I had a weird conversation with my sister today. She's always been a very trusting person -- like my mom -- and, after a series of recent events, she's become aware that people take advantage of it -- which is starting to get to her.
Not me. I was born a skeptic -- and law school just made it worse. I told her that I go into every situation fully aware that everyone has an agenda -- sometimes it's hidden, sometimes it's not -- but it's still an agenda. And I spend an exorbitant amount of time trying to figure out just what that agenda is.
I don't know which is worse -- trusting people too much, or not trusting anyone.
Not me. I was born a skeptic -- and law school just made it worse. I told her that I go into every situation fully aware that everyone has an agenda -- sometimes it's hidden, sometimes it's not -- but it's still an agenda. And I spend an exorbitant amount of time trying to figure out just what that agenda is.
I don't know which is worse -- trusting people too much, or not trusting anyone.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Cards and Flowers
When I was in law school, Mother's Day always fell right around finals. One year, I had a late final or a paper due or something, so I told my mom that there was no way that I'd be able to come down for the weekend. Then, when she and the entire family were out to dinner, I magically showed up, flowers in hand. She was so surprised to see me -- much as she was when I did the same thing for her birthday a couple of years ago -- but she lied and told me that she thought I'd be there. The truth is that she knew I would do something -- I always did something -- but she had no idea that I'd get in the car and drive for four-and-a-half hours just to turn around and head back the next day.
The real truth was that I hated not being with her on Mother's Day. Celebrations like that were very important to her.
One year, a long time ago -- back when I was still a teenager, maybe in my first year of college by then -- my mom and my sister got in a bad fight right before Mother's Day -- so my sister ignored her for the weekend.
That was so not my mom's style -- she'd get angry and then forget why she was angry about 10 minutes later -- or maybe the next day if it was really bad. So my mom wound up being upset that my sister was mad at her, but she was really bothered by the fact that that my sister didn't wish her a happy Mother's Day, or even give her a card.
Of course, I tried to negotiate a truce, and found out the truth: My sister had gotten my mom a card, but didn't give it to her as "punishment," like how you would take a favorite toy away from a misbehaving child.
But I digress. What I really mean to say is that this is the first holiday that she's not around, and it's way harder than I thought it would be.
According to a survey, this year, consumers plan on spending about $15.8 billion on gifts for Mother's Day. In 2007, the same survey indicated that consumers planned to spend $15.73 billion.
Not me. This year I am doing nothing.
Yesterday, I told my Nana that I couldn't even bring myself to go into the Hallmark store -- right downstairs -- to get her a card. Not surprisingly, she understood that I'm just not in the mood for it.
I don't think she knows how bad it is. Every time I see an ad on tv, or get an email from one of the places I used to send my mother flowers in years past, I get annoyed. I think I'm just about ready to add 1-800-Flowers and ProFlowers and FTD to my spam filter. All that marketing is really just too much for someone who just lost their mother. It borders on offensive.
No, that's not exactly right: It feels like a kick to the stomach.
You would think that the retailers would have done some kind of survey on that.
The real truth was that I hated not being with her on Mother's Day. Celebrations like that were very important to her.
One year, a long time ago -- back when I was still a teenager, maybe in my first year of college by then -- my mom and my sister got in a bad fight right before Mother's Day -- so my sister ignored her for the weekend.
That was so not my mom's style -- she'd get angry and then forget why she was angry about 10 minutes later -- or maybe the next day if it was really bad. So my mom wound up being upset that my sister was mad at her, but she was really bothered by the fact that that my sister didn't wish her a happy Mother's Day, or even give her a card.
Of course, I tried to negotiate a truce, and found out the truth: My sister had gotten my mom a card, but didn't give it to her as "punishment," like how you would take a favorite toy away from a misbehaving child.
But I digress. What I really mean to say is that this is the first holiday that she's not around, and it's way harder than I thought it would be.
According to a survey, this year, consumers plan on spending about $15.8 billion on gifts for Mother's Day. In 2007, the same survey indicated that consumers planned to spend $15.73 billion.
Not me. This year I am doing nothing.
Yesterday, I told my Nana that I couldn't even bring myself to go into the Hallmark store -- right downstairs -- to get her a card. Not surprisingly, she understood that I'm just not in the mood for it.
I don't think she knows how bad it is. Every time I see an ad on tv, or get an email from one of the places I used to send my mother flowers in years past, I get annoyed. I think I'm just about ready to add 1-800-Flowers and ProFlowers and FTD to my spam filter. All that marketing is really just too much for someone who just lost their mother. It borders on offensive.
No, that's not exactly right: It feels like a kick to the stomach.
You would think that the retailers would have done some kind of survey on that.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
It's still May 6 in the D.C. metro area
Not only was there an earthquake in Annandale today, but somehow, the Washington Post managed to break the space-time continuum and write a story about it in the future.
Talk about newsworthy.
Talk about newsworthy.
Monday, May 05, 2008
My "truest, deepest self" still wishes my mom was here
I stumbled across an article in the Los Angeles Times, of all places, about how some people improve their lives after being orphaned as adults.
I am not an orphan (my dad has promised that he'll make it to 100, and I believe him) but I understand part of it. I mean, since my mom died, I've made a conscious effort to try to clean up my act -- I'm being healthier, I'm trying to be more responsible, and I'm trying to eliminate extraneous things from my life, particularly if they don't make me happy. But I can't get behind the central pretext of the article, that "The death of your parents can be the best thing that ever happens to you."
The author tries to justify, or maybe just explain:
I find the whole thing offensive. Even if all the rest is true, since my mother's death, I don't find myself being free. Not even close. And I'd trade any wisdom or maturity or fearlessness that I may have gained in this shitty process to have her back -- even with the merciless nudging, the constant complaining and the high expectations, coupled with my need to make her happy (or at least placated). I miss it. I need someone to kick me in the ass sometimes.
All of the re-prioritization in the world isn't worth it.
I am not an orphan (my dad has promised that he'll make it to 100, and I believe him) but I understand part of it. I mean, since my mom died, I've made a conscious effort to try to clean up my act -- I'm being healthier, I'm trying to be more responsible, and I'm trying to eliminate extraneous things from my life, particularly if they don't make me happy. But I can't get behind the central pretext of the article, that "The death of your parents can be the best thing that ever happens to you."
The author tries to justify, or maybe just explain:
"The death of a parent -- any parent -- can set us free. It offers us our last, best chance to become our truest, deepest selves," Safer writes. "Nothing else in adult life has so much unrecognized potential to help us become more fulfilled human beings -- wiser, more mature, more open, less afraid."
I find the whole thing offensive. Even if all the rest is true, since my mother's death, I don't find myself being free. Not even close. And I'd trade any wisdom or maturity or fearlessness that I may have gained in this shitty process to have her back -- even with the merciless nudging, the constant complaining and the high expectations, coupled with my need to make her happy (or at least placated). I miss it. I need someone to kick me in the ass sometimes.
All of the re-prioritization in the world isn't worth it.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
How the dinosaurs must have felt
Don't get me wrong: I love CDs. But my consumption of music has been evolving -- I am now as likely to download a song from iTunes as I am to go to Amazon and buy the CD. And not too long ago, I noted that I had digitized my entire music collection -- it's now up to 12051 songs (not including a whole bunch I got from Stereogum that I haven't added to my iTunes library yet).
I even posted my own muxtape to share with the world.
I used to buy CDs in actual music stores. But I can't remember the last time I did that. In fact, the only time I remember going into a music store lately, it was a record store (Orpheus in Clarendon, which is going out of business by the end of the month), and I bought a used copy of Fleetwood Mac's Tusk from the bargain bin. And that was before my record player died, which must have been at least a year ago.
I think I'm a prime example of the reason that record stores are going out of business -- my habits have changed drastically in a very short time.
A couple of months ago, I read a Washington Post article indicating that the record industry believes that it is illegal for me to copy the music that I have purchased in CD format onto my computer. That can't be right, can it?
About the only thing in the entire story that made sense to me is this:
The 21st century is a confusing time.
I even posted my own muxtape to share with the world.
I used to buy CDs in actual music stores. But I can't remember the last time I did that. In fact, the only time I remember going into a music store lately, it was a record store (Orpheus in Clarendon, which is going out of business by the end of the month), and I bought a used copy of Fleetwood Mac's Tusk from the bargain bin. And that was before my record player died, which must have been at least a year ago.
I think I'm a prime example of the reason that record stores are going out of business -- my habits have changed drastically in a very short time.
A couple of months ago, I read a Washington Post article indicating that the record industry believes that it is illegal for me to copy the music that I have purchased in CD format onto my computer. That can't be right, can it?
About the only thing in the entire story that made sense to me is this:
The RIAA's legal crusade against its customers is a classic example of an old media company clinging to a business model that has collapsed. Four years of a failed strategy has only "created a whole market of people who specifically look to buy independent goods so as not to deal with the big record companies," Beckerman says. "Every problem they're trying to solve is worse now than when they started."
The 21st century is a confusing time.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Chemistry 101
Last night, I came home from the gym, and, after blogging about it, went to go take a shower, during which I finished a container of face scrub.
So, I had to go find a new thing of face scrub -- which I knew I had in the apartment.
Let me back up -- for some unknown reason, I have a ton of cosmetic-type stuff. I buy stuff, I use it a couple of times, and then I find something else I like better. Then it goes into a cabinet until I'm in desparate need of it, in which case I have to dig it out. One place where I store a ton of stuff is in a very thick heavy-duty plastic container (with a locking lid) under my sink. Most of my facial cleansing products are there. (Hair care products, soaps, lotions, and perfumes each have a slightly different location.)
Anyway, so last night, after my shower, I went to find a facial scrub in this plastic container. When I opened it, I found that pretty much the entire thing was covered in a sticky yellowish goo. A mystery container had leaked.
What was worse was that now the goo was on me, and I had just gotten out of the shower. Not to mention that it was on my bath mat and towels.
In other words, the goo had taken over my bathroom.
As for my evening, ultimately it wound up with a second shower and a load of laundry. But before that, I spent an hour or so cleaning my bathroom. And the container. And each and every item that was in the stupid container.
Of course, that's how I figured out what had leaked.
A couple of months ago, I had bought some very fancy and very expensive serum -- compete with a eyedrop-type disbursal apparatus -- that was supposed to make my skin look younger and firmer and more wrinkle-free while treating breakouts of adult acne. It was a total and complete waste of money, since I do not have wrinkles or particularly old looking skin, and I certainly don't have acne. (The occasional stress or hormone-related breakout, maybe -- but not acne.) But the ad was so convincing. . . .
The serum wound up in the plastic storage container -- where it had tipped over and had eaten its way through the rubber part of its cap. (Melted might be a better description, since when I touched it, the rubber was, essentially, liquid -- and next to impossible to get off my skin!) The serum had also eaten through part of another container which contained facial cleanser -- the mystery yellow goo. So now, I'm wondering exactly just what the hell kind of chemical compound I was putting on my face. If it could eat through plastic . . . .
From now on, I'm only buying stuff from the drugstore.
So, I had to go find a new thing of face scrub -- which I knew I had in the apartment.
Let me back up -- for some unknown reason, I have a ton of cosmetic-type stuff. I buy stuff, I use it a couple of times, and then I find something else I like better. Then it goes into a cabinet until I'm in desparate need of it, in which case I have to dig it out. One place where I store a ton of stuff is in a very thick heavy-duty plastic container (with a locking lid) under my sink. Most of my facial cleansing products are there. (Hair care products, soaps, lotions, and perfumes each have a slightly different location.)
Anyway, so last night, after my shower, I went to find a facial scrub in this plastic container. When I opened it, I found that pretty much the entire thing was covered in a sticky yellowish goo. A mystery container had leaked.
What was worse was that now the goo was on me, and I had just gotten out of the shower. Not to mention that it was on my bath mat and towels.
In other words, the goo had taken over my bathroom.
As for my evening, ultimately it wound up with a second shower and a load of laundry. But before that, I spent an hour or so cleaning my bathroom. And the container. And each and every item that was in the stupid container.
Of course, that's how I figured out what had leaked.
A couple of months ago, I had bought some very fancy and very expensive serum -- compete with a eyedrop-type disbursal apparatus -- that was supposed to make my skin look younger and firmer and more wrinkle-free while treating breakouts of adult acne. It was a total and complete waste of money, since I do not have wrinkles or particularly old looking skin, and I certainly don't have acne. (The occasional stress or hormone-related breakout, maybe -- but not acne.) But the ad was so convincing. . . .
The serum wound up in the plastic storage container -- where it had tipped over and had eaten its way through the rubber part of its cap. (Melted might be a better description, since when I touched it, the rubber was, essentially, liquid -- and next to impossible to get off my skin!) The serum had also eaten through part of another container which contained facial cleanser -- the mystery yellow goo. So now, I'm wondering exactly just what the hell kind of chemical compound I was putting on my face. If it could eat through plastic . . . .
From now on, I'm only buying stuff from the drugstore.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Fairweather
Tonight, I went out to dinner with a whole bunch of people, many of whom I consider friends. Some of those are people I see all the time, some are people I haven't seen (or spoken to) for a while -- since before my trial, before my mom died.
Some of those people I considered my fairly good friends. I helped them with their breakups, hung out with them when they were bored. I even sat there and listened to them on the other end of the phone for long periods of time, even though I'm not a phone person.
Tonight, some of those people were sitting at a table with me for a couple of hours and did not say a word to me. Not even "hi."
It made me realize that I was friends with them when it was convenient -- when they needed things. But they're just not there for me when I need them.
I've been through a lot lately, so I've decided that I'm going to be selfish right now -- I'm entitled. So from now on, anyone who can't pull their weight in the friendship department, they're out. I just don't have the time or the patience anymore.
Some of those people I considered my fairly good friends. I helped them with their breakups, hung out with them when they were bored. I even sat there and listened to them on the other end of the phone for long periods of time, even though I'm not a phone person.
Tonight, some of those people were sitting at a table with me for a couple of hours and did not say a word to me. Not even "hi."
It made me realize that I was friends with them when it was convenient -- when they needed things. But they're just not there for me when I need them.
I've been through a lot lately, so I've decided that I'm going to be selfish right now -- I'm entitled. So from now on, anyone who can't pull their weight in the friendship department, they're out. I just don't have the time or the patience anymore.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Looking for something
I got a note today from an old friend who had just heard the news about my mom. It was unexpected and sweet -- and yeah, it made me cry. Then again, just about everything makes me cry. It's one of the few ways that I am like my mother.
A couple of days ago, my brother told me that he talks to her when he's in the car. I'm a little jealous of that -- I don't feel like she's anywhere around to hear me.
I look in the mirror a lot, to see if I can see anything of her in me, but I don't see it. I never saw it. The only thing we ever had in common was our coloring, and even that's not quite right, since her eyes were somewhere between sky blue and grey, and mine are more green. Oh, and her hair was a darker brown than mine -- almost black before it started to go grey. I guess that's what I really have of hers -- the grey hair, but by the time she was my age, she had a lot more than I have now.
In the stupid notebook I wrote in on the plane, I jotted something about how my mother had the most beautiful hands. Her hands were larger than mine, her fingers were long and elegant, and, as long as I can remember, she always had long nails. My nails get long too, but my hands are tiny, and my fingers are small. I wish I had her hands. The grey hair I could do without.
A couple of days ago, my brother told me that he talks to her when he's in the car. I'm a little jealous of that -- I don't feel like she's anywhere around to hear me.
I look in the mirror a lot, to see if I can see anything of her in me, but I don't see it. I never saw it. The only thing we ever had in common was our coloring, and even that's not quite right, since her eyes were somewhere between sky blue and grey, and mine are more green. Oh, and her hair was a darker brown than mine -- almost black before it started to go grey. I guess that's what I really have of hers -- the grey hair, but by the time she was my age, she had a lot more than I have now.
In the stupid notebook I wrote in on the plane, I jotted something about how my mother had the most beautiful hands. Her hands were larger than mine, her fingers were long and elegant, and, as long as I can remember, she always had long nails. My nails get long too, but my hands are tiny, and my fingers are small. I wish I had her hands. The grey hair I could do without.
Bad night gets worse
I had a disappointing night. I went to Game 7, only to watch the Caps lose to the Flyers in overtime. And then on metro, on a crowded train on the way home, some lady inadvertently grabbed my boob when reaching for the pole. I can only imagine what the look on my face was like.
Then I got a call from my brother. He told me that my dad went on a date tonight. With a woman he met on J-Date.
I am trying to be okay with it. I understand that my dad is bored and lonely in a big empty house with no one to talk to. But dating? It just seems too soon to me. Everything is still so raw.
Then I got a call from my brother. He told me that my dad went on a date tonight. With a woman he met on J-Date.
I am trying to be okay with it. I understand that my dad is bored and lonely in a big empty house with no one to talk to. But dating? It just seems too soon to me. Everything is still so raw.
Monday, April 21, 2008
Literary thought of the week
So I was reading this article/photo essay about Edith Wharton's house -- and you know how much I like Edith Wharton -- when I was struck by this quote:
In an early short story, "The Fullness of Life," she wrote:
I have sometimes thought that a woman's nature is like a great house full of rooms: there is the hall, through which everyone passes in going in and out; the drawing room, where one receives formal visits; the sitting room, where members of the family come and go as they list; but beyond that, far beyond, are other rooms, the handle of whose doors perhaps are never turned, no one knows the way to them, no one knows whither they lead; and in the innermost room, the holy of holies, the soul sits alone and waits for a footstep that never comes.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
On reading
Here's an interesting fact: In 2007, Washington DC was America's fifth most literate city.
While that may sound good to you, it smacks of failure to me, because in 2006, we were tied for third. To compensate, I'm going to have to start reading again. Of course, it'll have to be when I'm not working, running, or watching bad reality tv. And since, somehow, I have not managed to finish A SINGLE BOOK this year, I need to get to work.
While that may sound good to you, it smacks of failure to me, because in 2006, we were tied for third. To compensate, I'm going to have to start reading again. Of course, it'll have to be when I'm not working, running, or watching bad reality tv. And since, somehow, I have not managed to finish A SINGLE BOOK this year, I need to get to work.
Rock of Love postscript
You know, it's been a long time since I had those posters of Bret Michaels (amongst others) on my bedroom walls. But this week, he impressed me. First he goes and picks a seemingly normal (and age appropriate!) non-stripper girl on Rock of Love, and then he admits that his hair is at least partially fake.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Drama
No matter how hard I try to avoid it, sometimes drama has a way of finding me. Yesterday's conversation went something like this:
Him: Hey, how are you?
Me: I'm hanging in there.
Him: I called last week. I left a message.
Me: Yeah, I know. I meant to call back, but I've been busy. With work. And, uh, baseball.
[Brief discussion about my work.]
Him: How's the new stadium?
Me: Pretty awesome, but the team is stinking up the joint.
Him: How are you really doing?
Me: Things are pretty fucked up. But there's nothing I can do about it.
Him: How's your dad?
Me: Weird. But you know, he's always been weird. He asked me how I would feel about him dating, so I asked him how he felt about me dating. He said he preferred not to think about it, and I think that's reasonable all around.
Him: I guess that's how I'll feel about my daughter.
Me: Speaking of, how is the kid?
Him: She's good. My parents were just up here visiting.
Me: That's nice, send them my regards.
Him: They told me to say hi. They had a good time with the baby. Too bad her parents are all screwed up. [The girlfriend] goes out of her way to make my life difficult. . .
Me: That's too bad.
Him: . . . So I moved back in with her.
Me: Good, I guess. I mean, if that's what you think you need to do for your daughter.
Him: Yeah. But it's not working. We don't get along. And now [girlfriend] wants her mom to move in, which is going to make it worse.
Me: Oh. Well, on an unrelated note, I might be up near you sometime this summer.
Him: You should give me a call.
Me: Maybe. Depends on timing . . . .
Him: I might be single by then.
Me: Does that even matter? I'd like to meet [girlfriend] and see the baby.
Him: I don't know about that. [Girlfriend] is very jealous.
Me: Of me?
Him: [Silence.]
Me: She doesn't know you're talking to me, does she?
Him: Listen, I have to go. I'll talk to you soon.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Relationship economics
I am thirty-two years old. By my account, I have almost gotten married three times, twice to the same person. Somehow, I never managed to do it -- but the thing is, I've mostly felt that it was all for the best.
I might have been wrong. According to this Atlantic Monthly article, I should have just settled:
Slate views the whole problem as one of economics -- game theory to be precise:
While I wonder how this applies to Rock of Love, I am fairly confident that this is manifested in my own life by the fact that, last week, I told someone that I just want to find a man that can change the oil in my car.
I might have been wrong. According to this Atlantic Monthly article, I should have just settled:
At their core, they pose one of the most complicated, painful, and pervasive dilemmas many single women are forced to grapple with nowadays: Is it better to be alone, or to settle?
My advice is this: Settle! That’s right. Don’t worry about passion or intense connection. Don’t nix a guy based on his annoying habit of yelling “Bravo!” in movie theaters. Overlook his halitosis or abysmal sense of aesthetics. Because if you want to have the infrastructure in place to have a family, settling is the way to go. Based on my observations, in fact, settling will probably make you happier in the long run, since many of those who marry with great expectations become more disillusioned with each passing year.
***
What I didn’t realize when I decided, in my 30s, to break up with boyfriends I might otherwise have ended up marrying, is that while settling seems like an enormous act of resignation when you’re looking at it from the vantage point of a single person, once you take the plunge and do it, you’ll probably be relatively content. It sounds obvious now, but I didn’t fully appreciate back then that what makes for a good marriage isn’t necessarily what makes for a good romantic relationship. Once you’re married, it’s not about whom you want to go on vacation with; it’s about whom you want to run a household with. Marriage isn’t a passion-fest; it’s more like a partnership formed to run a very small, mundane, and often boring nonprofit business. And I mean this in a good way.
Slate views the whole problem as one of economics -- game theory to be precise:
You can think of this traditional concept of the search for marriage partners as a kind of an auction. In this auction, some women will be more confident of their prospects, others less so. In game-theory terms, you would call the first group "strong bidders" and the second "weak bidders." Your first thought might be that the "strong bidders"—women who (whether because of looks, social ability, or any other reason) are conventionally deemed more of a catch—would consistently win this kind of auction.
But this is not true. In fact, game theory predicts, and empirical studies of auctions bear out, that auctions will often be won by "weak" bidders, who know that they can be outbid and so bid more aggressively, while the "strong" bidders will hold out for a really great deal. . . . But you can also see how this works intuitively if you just consider that with a lot at stake in getting it right in one shot, it's the women who are confident that they are holding a strong hand who are likely to hold out and wait for the perfect prospect.
While I wonder how this applies to Rock of Love, I am fairly confident that this is manifested in my own life by the fact that, last week, I told someone that I just want to find a man that can change the oil in my car.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Diagnosing the Nationals
So, about that big fancy new ballpark . . . .
The seats and crowd: Based on opening night, tonight's game and conversations with others, my seats are pretty gosh darn awesome. And, though you wouldn't know it from TV, my section -- the front of the upper deck, just behind home plate -- was pretty full. Actually, a lot of sections looked pretty full -- but the announced attendance was only 24,549, way less than the capacity of 41,000. I thought that number was surprisingly low, considering that tonight was the first night with a spring-like game-time temperature and no rain in the forecast. Then again, it was the Marlins on a school night -- and the team keeps losing. But more on that later.
The places that looked empty are the ones (1) out in the outfield; (2) higher up and down the lines in the upper deck; and (3) the fancy seats behind home plate. The third category looks worse than it is. I understand that the seats behind home plate are really good and should be priced accordingly -- but the lack of butts in those seats makes the place look even emptier than it is, especially on TV. Mostly, though, the team definitely needs to work on selling more tickets in the first two categories.
The concessions: I had a big fancy "Curly W" pretzel, and it was really good. (The knish from the Kosher stand could have been warmer, though.) All things being equal, the prices don't seem outrageous to me -- and not all that different from last year or the two years before that. Then again, I'm not buying food for a family of four.
Metro: The trip to the ballpark is fine -- no problems. There's a heck of a crowd trying to get on the train at the end of the ballgame, though. So, even though it takes a bit longer, it makes sense to walk to Capital South. But that'll probably get real old real quick when it's 100 degrees and humid outside.
The team: That's the real problem -- DC only likes winners. Look at the support currently being doled out to the Capitals and Wizards. Back in November, when the Caps were losing, the Verizon Center was half-empty. But once they started winning, the arena started getting full. And now fans can't even get playoff tickets.
On paper, the Nats seem like they should be better than last year -- like it was during the first three games. But neither the offense or the defense seem to be getting the job done, and now they've lost seven in a row. The team just strands too many runners on base, which has been the difference in just about all losses -- and that hurts the fans way more than the lower-than-expected attendance, crowds on Metro, and expensive food put together.
But what to do about it? Zimm and Kearns don't seem to be hitting -- especially with runners on base -- Dmitri's hurt, and I'm still not convinced about Paul LoDuca's ability to manage the pitching staff -- or, as evidenced tonight, hit in clutch situations. Felipe Lopez looks competent in left, but he's not hitting much either -- and the team has lost every game in which he's started. And let's not even talk about Mackowiak, Boone, and Harris.
On the plus side, Belliard and Johnson seem pretty solid, Milledge has impressed me so far, and Guzman's hitting has been pretty amazing -- but he needs get his OBP up and keep the errors down. And I'm keeping my fingers crossed that Shawn Hill, the Chief, Wily Mo, and even Elijah Dukes are going to be back any minute now.
The conclusion: The team is not as bad as they are currently playing -- nor as good as they looked during the first three games. And the brand-new beautiful ballpark is really good -- not great -- but it'll get better as the area develops. Mostly, though, D.C. baseball fans need to get their butts in the seats. If they can't do that, there's a serious problem.
The seats and crowd: Based on opening night, tonight's game and conversations with others, my seats are pretty gosh darn awesome. And, though you wouldn't know it from TV, my section -- the front of the upper deck, just behind home plate -- was pretty full. Actually, a lot of sections looked pretty full -- but the announced attendance was only 24,549, way less than the capacity of 41,000. I thought that number was surprisingly low, considering that tonight was the first night with a spring-like game-time temperature and no rain in the forecast. Then again, it was the Marlins on a school night -- and the team keeps losing. But more on that later.
The places that looked empty are the ones (1) out in the outfield; (2) higher up and down the lines in the upper deck; and (3) the fancy seats behind home plate. The third category looks worse than it is. I understand that the seats behind home plate are really good and should be priced accordingly -- but the lack of butts in those seats makes the place look even emptier than it is, especially on TV. Mostly, though, the team definitely needs to work on selling more tickets in the first two categories.
The concessions: I had a big fancy "Curly W" pretzel, and it was really good. (The knish from the Kosher stand could have been warmer, though.) All things being equal, the prices don't seem outrageous to me -- and not all that different from last year or the two years before that. Then again, I'm not buying food for a family of four.
Metro: The trip to the ballpark is fine -- no problems. There's a heck of a crowd trying to get on the train at the end of the ballgame, though. So, even though it takes a bit longer, it makes sense to walk to Capital South. But that'll probably get real old real quick when it's 100 degrees and humid outside.
The team: That's the real problem -- DC only likes winners. Look at the support currently being doled out to the Capitals and Wizards. Back in November, when the Caps were losing, the Verizon Center was half-empty. But once they started winning, the arena started getting full. And now fans can't even get playoff tickets.
On paper, the Nats seem like they should be better than last year -- like it was during the first three games. But neither the offense or the defense seem to be getting the job done, and now they've lost seven in a row. The team just strands too many runners on base, which has been the difference in just about all losses -- and that hurts the fans way more than the lower-than-expected attendance, crowds on Metro, and expensive food put together.
But what to do about it? Zimm and Kearns don't seem to be hitting -- especially with runners on base -- Dmitri's hurt, and I'm still not convinced about Paul LoDuca's ability to manage the pitching staff -- or, as evidenced tonight, hit in clutch situations. Felipe Lopez looks competent in left, but he's not hitting much either -- and the team has lost every game in which he's started. And let's not even talk about Mackowiak, Boone, and Harris.
On the plus side, Belliard and Johnson seem pretty solid, Milledge has impressed me so far, and Guzman's hitting has been pretty amazing -- but he needs get his OBP up and keep the errors down. And I'm keeping my fingers crossed that Shawn Hill, the Chief, Wily Mo, and even Elijah Dukes are going to be back any minute now.
The conclusion: The team is not as bad as they are currently playing -- nor as good as they looked during the first three games. And the brand-new beautiful ballpark is really good -- not great -- but it'll get better as the area develops. Mostly, though, D.C. baseball fans need to get their butts in the seats. If they can't do that, there's a serious problem.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Hockey
(If Lauren Conrad can blog about hockey, so can I.)
Growing up, I never payed much attention to hockey. Don't get me wrong: I was vaguely aware that my dad was a Rangers fan, and that, in New Jersey, we had the Devils. But it didn't catch my interest. And then we moved to Florida, which, other than football (college and otherwise) was pretty much a sports vacuum. But then, during the year I left for college, we magically acquired both hockey and baseball.
I remember going to my first hockey game during college. Back then, Tallahassee had a minor league team, the Tiger Sharks. I thought it was fun to watch, but never got obsessed about it the same way I did with college football or baseball.
Then I moved to DC and went to my first Capitals game. Without baseball in town, the Caps were the only local team I could bring myself to root for -- albeit as a casual fan, going to a game or two each season. But since the strike -- and especially with the Nats in town -- I just never found a reason to go.
Until November. Right after Thanksgiving, a couple of friends and I went to go see the Caps lose in an overtime shoot-out to Florida. And I remembered how much I liked watching hockey -- even if "my" team wasn't playing particularly well. But for the fact that I spent most of this miserable winter in Newark (or preparing for the trip), I think I would have gone to a whole bunch of games. (I know that we were seriously considering going for the mullet wigs.)
While in Newark, every day we'd walk by the Devils' brand-new arena -- and every day, I'd tell my coworkers that we should take a break and go check out a game. Alas, we were always too busy, and never quite managed to make it.
But then I came home. And last week, I went to an amazing game. Not only was it a ton of fun to watch, but the crowd was so excited and into it. So now I'm wishing I could get my hands on some playoff tickets.
Growing up, I never payed much attention to hockey. Don't get me wrong: I was vaguely aware that my dad was a Rangers fan, and that, in New Jersey, we had the Devils. But it didn't catch my interest. And then we moved to Florida, which, other than football (college and otherwise) was pretty much a sports vacuum. But then, during the year I left for college, we magically acquired both hockey and baseball.
I remember going to my first hockey game during college. Back then, Tallahassee had a minor league team, the Tiger Sharks. I thought it was fun to watch, but never got obsessed about it the same way I did with college football or baseball.
Then I moved to DC and went to my first Capitals game. Without baseball in town, the Caps were the only local team I could bring myself to root for -- albeit as a casual fan, going to a game or two each season. But since the strike -- and especially with the Nats in town -- I just never found a reason to go.
Until November. Right after Thanksgiving, a couple of friends and I went to go see the Caps lose in an overtime shoot-out to Florida. And I remembered how much I liked watching hockey -- even if "my" team wasn't playing particularly well. But for the fact that I spent most of this miserable winter in Newark (or preparing for the trip), I think I would have gone to a whole bunch of games. (I know that we were seriously considering going for the mullet wigs.)
While in Newark, every day we'd walk by the Devils' brand-new arena -- and every day, I'd tell my coworkers that we should take a break and go check out a game. Alas, we were always too busy, and never quite managed to make it.
But then I came home. And last week, I went to an amazing game. Not only was it a ton of fun to watch, but the crowd was so excited and into it. So now I'm wishing I could get my hands on some playoff tickets.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
Punk Rock Babies
So, the other day, on Metro, I saw a baby in little mini Chuck Taylors (navy blue hi-tops). Of course, this was right after I read the Washington Post article on the history of Converse. Then and there, I decided that if I ever have a kid, she's going to have black ones, because she's going to be a total punk rock baby.
So, when I was talking to my dad about my running shoes, the conversation somehow went to the awesome baby Converse, and then I noted that if I have a kid, not only will I get her these shoes, maybe she'll even have a mohawk.
My dad said, "You had a mohawk."
Now everything makes sense.
So, when I was talking to my dad about my running shoes, the conversation somehow went to the awesome baby Converse, and then I noted that if I have a kid, not only will I get her these shoes, maybe she'll even have a mohawk.
My dad said, "You had a mohawk."
Now everything makes sense.
Sunday, April 06, 2008
Phone calls
This afternoon, my Nana called to check up on me. It was a bizarre conversation, almost as if she was cross-examining me. At one point, she said, "Is there anything else I'm supposed to ask you?"
I said "Nana, what are you talking about?"
She said, "Well, when you would talk to your mother, what would she ask you?"
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I opted for laughter then, but as I'm typing this I have tears in my eyes. After all, there's something precious and funny -- and at the same time, horribly sad -- about my Nana feeling that she somehow needs to be my mother's conversation replacement. But no one -- not even my determined little grandmother -- could ever be that; it's pointless to even try.
So, I told my Nana about the phone conversations. How I talked to my mother almost every day, about nothing and everything. About how sometimes it was to ask a question, and sometimes it was just to tell her about something I did or something I bought -- but how the conversation never went according to a script.
But I didn't tell Nana about the real point of almost all of the conversations: To make my mother laugh. On the airplane down to Florida exactly two months ago, one of the things I jotted in my notebook was that "She always found my strangeness funny. And I always obliged because I didn't care if she was laughing with me or at me. As long as she was laughing."
At the funeral, I stood up and said some things, most of which I don't really remember. I do, however, know that I said that my mother had the best laugh. And it's that, not the rambling conversations, that I miss the most.
I said "Nana, what are you talking about?"
She said, "Well, when you would talk to your mother, what would she ask you?"
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I opted for laughter then, but as I'm typing this I have tears in my eyes. After all, there's something precious and funny -- and at the same time, horribly sad -- about my Nana feeling that she somehow needs to be my mother's conversation replacement. But no one -- not even my determined little grandmother -- could ever be that; it's pointless to even try.
So, I told my Nana about the phone conversations. How I talked to my mother almost every day, about nothing and everything. About how sometimes it was to ask a question, and sometimes it was just to tell her about something I did or something I bought -- but how the conversation never went according to a script.
But I didn't tell Nana about the real point of almost all of the conversations: To make my mother laugh. On the airplane down to Florida exactly two months ago, one of the things I jotted in my notebook was that "She always found my strangeness funny. And I always obliged because I didn't care if she was laughing with me or at me. As long as she was laughing."
At the funeral, I stood up and said some things, most of which I don't really remember. I do, however, know that I said that my mother had the best laugh. And it's that, not the rambling conversations, that I miss the most.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Environmental Impact
Over the past few years, I've gotten more and more environmentally conscious. During the summer, I keep my air conditioning lower (temperature higher) than most people -- and during the winter, I barely use my heat, and instead wear layers/use extra blankets. I drive as infrequently as I can, opting instead for public transportation. I recycle aluminum cans, glass and plastic bottles. In the summer, I buy most of my produce -- and a lot of cheese -- from farmer's markets. I unplug my cell phone charger when I'm not using it. I turn off the water while brushing my teeth. As my light bulbs burn out, I replace them with compact flourescents. I only buy paper products made with recycled paper. I've even switched to biodegradable laundry detergent -- although, admittedly, part of that is because it's hypoallergenic.
And, after revisiting a Washington Post article about paper versus plastic shopping bags, this week, I bought my first reuseable bag. (I'll probably have to get a second one, though, for larger shopping trips.)
Still, I am not even close to leading a carbon-neutral existence. According to this quiz, while I'm pretty good for an American, I'm still pretty bad for the environment:
I guess, to be better, I'd have to live in a smaller apartment -- without electricity! -- stop flying on airplanes, give up meat, buy only local produce, and get a car with higher fuel efficiency.
Sorry environment. It's just not going to happen. I've done what I can do.
And, after revisiting a Washington Post article about paper versus plastic shopping bags, this week, I bought my first reuseable bag. (I'll probably have to get a second one, though, for larger shopping trips.)
Still, I am not even close to leading a carbon-neutral existence. According to this quiz, while I'm pretty good for an American, I'm still pretty bad for the environment:
I guess, to be better, I'd have to live in a smaller apartment -- without electricity! -- stop flying on airplanes, give up meat, buy only local produce, and get a car with higher fuel efficiency.
Sorry environment. It's just not going to happen. I've done what I can do.
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
Missing Persons
I have a friend, someone that I've known for over 10 years now, who sort-of disappeared. I'd call, send the occasional email -- and wouldn't get anything back. I sort of wrote it off as her having a very busy job and going through some personal stuff -- both of which are true -- but I pretty much got radio silence for the last year.
And, no, it's not distance-related -- she lives in the area. The funny thing is that I actually talk to her less now that she lives nearby.
So, even though I had not gotten anything more than a cursory e-mail from her last May, I tried to call her when my mom died. I got her voicemail. And it wasn't the sort of thing that I wanted to say in a message, so I just asked her to call me back, that it was important. She never did.
Anyway, two weeks or so ago, I got a card from her. I initially thought that one of our mutual friends had told her about my mom and it was a sympathy card, but it was just a note card, apologizing for being out of touch, promising to be better, and asking me to give her a call.
Here's the dilemma: I really want to give her a call, but I am (1) slightly annoyed that she punted to me; and (2) not entirely convinced that she means it. So what do I do now?
And, no, it's not distance-related -- she lives in the area. The funny thing is that I actually talk to her less now that she lives nearby.
So, even though I had not gotten anything more than a cursory e-mail from her last May, I tried to call her when my mom died. I got her voicemail. And it wasn't the sort of thing that I wanted to say in a message, so I just asked her to call me back, that it was important. She never did.
Anyway, two weeks or so ago, I got a card from her. I initially thought that one of our mutual friends had told her about my mom and it was a sympathy card, but it was just a note card, apologizing for being out of touch, promising to be better, and asking me to give her a call.
Here's the dilemma: I really want to give her a call, but I am (1) slightly annoyed that she punted to me; and (2) not entirely convinced that she means it. So what do I do now?
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Baseball and the law
Today I stumbled across 123 U. Pa. L. Rev. 1474, a law review article on "The Common Law Origins of the Infield Fly Rule."
What a great piece of legal writing. I can only hope that the author is a judge somewhere now.
The Infield Fly Rule is obviously not a core principle of baseball. Unlike the diamond itself or the concepts of “out” and “safe,” the Infield Fly Rule is not necessary to the game. Without the Infield Fly Rule, baseball does not degenerate into bladderball the way the collective bargaining process degenerates into economic warfare when good faith is absent. It is a technical rule, a legislative response to actions that were previously permissible, though contrary to the spirit of the sport.
123 U. Pa. L. Rev. 1474, 1476-77 (1975)(citations omitted).
What a great piece of legal writing. I can only hope that the author is a judge somewhere now.
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