So.
It's finally here. The long-awaited wedding post. Don't get me wrong - I don't think any of YOU have been a-waiting for it. But it had to be written, and so I can finally stop fretting that I'm somehow letting an amorphous you (and by "you" I perhaps mean my own id) down.
Oh boy. Is there a psychiatrist in the house?
Anyway, I've indicated a few times that I thought 2009 was going to be a bigger wedding year than 2008, and I am right. I have Chelsea's wedding in September and Adriana's wedding in October and Amaryllis' wedding on a date TBD, which means dress fittings and bridal showers and bachelorette parties galore beforehand. This week I finally was SO over the fact that EWN1 hadn't emailed around about her maid of honor duties that I decided to just go for it.
And boy am I glad I did.
First of all, let's just put it out there that I'd be an amazing wedding planner. Seriously. I'm actually considering writing a book called "The Snarky Girl's Guide to being a Bridesmaid".
I think it would be a winner.
Because I think about these things! We've already planned a bachelor-bachelorette party the night before the wedding at me, Christina, Parker, Peter and Suzie (and Suzie's husband and Peter's girlfriend)'s cabin. But that is not enough! Brides are supposed to be special! Brides are supposed to have fun! Brides are supposed to get drunk with all their girlfriends and make lewd jokes about their fiances that their friends later wish they hadn't heard!
Wine country it is.
So I emailed around - Christina, Suzie, Adri's sister, and EWN1 (that's right, I'm all class) and suggested a few things. Then they all emailed back, except EWN1. So I went on facebook to find out if I had the wrong email address.
And found that she had blocked me.
Which is kind of absurd if you know the drama facebook played in the post-demise period of our friendship (did I ever tell that story? Meh. Kind of. It's unimportant. She's crazy, we're not friends anymore. Fin). When we were third years in college, she friended me on fb and I said no. She friended me again. I let it stand, because I was over this childish crap, and figured maybe she just thought that I wasn't on fb that often.
Ha.
But then the crazy pass-aggro girl that she is, she got a mutual friend of ours (mine from when I was 16, hers from college) to call me and ask drunkenly why I hadn't accepted.
I mean, seriously?
So I accepted, then let a few months go by and de-friended. Because that is what you do when you have a psychotic EWN1 in your life.
And maybe you're also a little crazy yourself.
Anyway, I was so shocked that she had blocked me that I wasn't even fazed when she ended up emailing us all much later that night, and refused to address me by name, only through Christina. And then when NY Laura got a friend request from her the next day (Laura, being the amazing friend she is, had also defriended EWN1 at some point) I mostly just kind of nodded. Because of course EWN1'd block me, someone she actually needs to talk to, and try to re-friend all the people she TRIED TO CUT ME OFF FROM.
Crazeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
Anyway this maybe is starting to make me sound a little obsessive (nooooo) so let's get back to the part where I rock. So EWN1 emailed back, and so did Chris and the sis and Suze and so we were GOOD to GO. So I emailed all of Adriana's college friends (that I had also facebook stalked) and THEY were all on board, and then I called Adri to see if she was avail that DAY and she WAS and we are all SO SUPER EXCITED.
And then this morning.
I woke up to a facebook message. From Adriana. It says - "MA, I am so happy we are friends. You are the absolute best."
Oh yeah I am.
And the best part is - I didn't block EWN1 from my profile page. So if she wants to make her way over to my fb page and see that Adriana loves me more than her, she can! And I hope she puts THAT in her crazy maid of honor bouquet and smokes it.
Yeah, ok, I know - me and my id need to take a chill pill too. But first, I need to plan fun games for the ride out to the vineyards! Weddings rock.
Esp. when I am the "absolute best".
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Let it snow... karma?
So.
I was sitting here eating breakfast, watching Regis and Kelly (oh whatever) and on top of the screen there was a "school closure" message about schools in Virginia and Maryland that were closed because of the 2 inches of snow on the ground.
Pussies.
I finish my breakfast, put on my super cute boots, shove everything into my bag and head out the front door. I make it 2 feet before I slip on those 2 inches of snow, go flying off my super cute boots, and land with a thump halfway on my ass and halfway on my front steps.
I suppose I'm a pussy.
Anyway, that means no class for me right now, as I go try to warm up my tush and my dignity. Be careful out there! Just cause you know, you think that because grew up in the North where you get lots of snow during the year, because you lived through the blizzard of '96 and days and days when school wasn't canceled despite the 2 inches of ice on the road does NOT mean you can be blithe about the weather.
Or else the gods will make you look like a pussy.
I was sitting here eating breakfast, watching Regis and Kelly (oh whatever) and on top of the screen there was a "school closure" message about schools in Virginia and Maryland that were closed because of the 2 inches of snow on the ground.
Pussies.
I finish my breakfast, put on my super cute boots, shove everything into my bag and head out the front door. I make it 2 feet before I slip on those 2 inches of snow, go flying off my super cute boots, and land with a thump halfway on my ass and halfway on my front steps.
I suppose I'm a pussy.
Anyway, that means no class for me right now, as I go try to warm up my tush and my dignity. Be careful out there! Just cause you know, you think that because grew up in the North where you get lots of snow during the year, because you lived through the blizzard of '96 and days and days when school wasn't canceled despite the 2 inches of ice on the road does NOT mean you can be blithe about the weather.
Or else the gods will make you look like a pussy.
Monday, January 19, 2009
President Barack Hussein Obama
So.
Y'all know that this is... well? The culmination of a very long dream. A dream that started out wistfully, devolved into a torturous (quite literally) nightmare where I thought the world was never going to change from a world in which a kid from my Arabic class got pulled off a plane for doing his homework. A world where a friend of a friend criticized (forcefully) President Bush, and received a visit from the Secret Service. A world where dissent mean anti-Americanism and progress seemed moribund.
Seriously, those things happened.
And then, right before I woke up screaming, I saw a light on the horizon. A sunrise in the darkness. Perhaps an O-shaped sunrise, if you know what I mean.
Sigh.
And the dream turned into a dramatic medieval tale of good vs slightly less good, and then good vs evil, and then good vs scary ass motherfucking crazy lady who doesn't know the name of even one newspaper in the United States yet called it sexism when people criticized her for thinking she could be VP.
It was admittedly still a little nightmarish then as well.
Point is - the dream won out. America won out. And I'm ready to march out in the freaking freezing cold tomorrow to watch the dream become a reality.
But that's just me.
On the day after the election, I called my grandmother who had supported Obama almost as long as I had, even though she was a white Catholic woman of a certain age. I got on the phone, ready to have the same little love fest that I had been having with all my friends since 11pm the night before.
Instead I heard silence, broken by tiny gasping tears.
"Uh... Grandma?" I asked. "Are you OK?" More silence. She eventually composed herself, and said, "MA honey, I am so happy for you. I know that you are probably happier than anyone else I know that Barack won last night. But you don't know what this means to me. What this means to anyone born before the 1980s. You weren't there. You didn't watch the news about those poor little girls in Birmingham. You missed the years when you didn't know who was next, first JFK then Martin Luther King then Bobby. You don't know. You weren't there."
It was my turn to be silent.
She went on to say that she wasn't trying to take anything away from MY victory and that in the end, all that mattered was that our guy had - finally! - won. But those words stuck with me. I didn't know. I wasn't there. That really applies to everyone, doesn't it? Don't get me wrong - she was dead on. I've recently finished "Listening is an Act of Love" - the "best of" collection of stories from StoryCorps - and while I don't consider myself a naive person, I was horrified by some of the tales of racism (and homophobia, and other things) that I read in that transcribed oral history. For those of you who lived through the civil rights movement, I'm sure Obama's victory means something completely different to you than it does to me.
But for the rest of you?
I'm ALSO sure that Obama's victory means something completely different to YOU all as well! So I want to hear - what does this mean to you. Republican, Democrats, young, old, black, white, gay, straight, Asian, Hispanic, Northerner, Southerner, midwest girl, farmer's daughter, etc. None of you are me, and I am none of you. We have this (WONDERFUL!! AMAZING!! FANTASMAGORICAL!!) shared experience of living through the inauguration of President Barack Hussein Obama, a first generation African from Hawaii raised by a single mother, highly educated, even-tempered, black man who is faced with a task so large that I'm going to go out on a limb and say that even FDR didn't have to deal with everything Obama will.
Sigh.
But that doesn't mean that we feel the same way about it (perhaps you would have thrown something instead of sighed). So enlighten me (and your fellow commenters). What are you thinking/feeling/crying about right now?
Oh, just me? Don't worry. I just had the best dream!
Y'all know that this is... well? The culmination of a very long dream. A dream that started out wistfully, devolved into a torturous (quite literally) nightmare where I thought the world was never going to change from a world in which a kid from my Arabic class got pulled off a plane for doing his homework. A world where a friend of a friend criticized (forcefully) President Bush, and received a visit from the Secret Service. A world where dissent mean anti-Americanism and progress seemed moribund.
Seriously, those things happened.
And then, right before I woke up screaming, I saw a light on the horizon. A sunrise in the darkness. Perhaps an O-shaped sunrise, if you know what I mean.
Sigh.
And the dream turned into a dramatic medieval tale of good vs slightly less good, and then good vs evil, and then good vs scary ass motherfucking crazy lady who doesn't know the name of even one newspaper in the United States yet called it sexism when people criticized her for thinking she could be VP.
It was admittedly still a little nightmarish then as well.
Point is - the dream won out. America won out. And I'm ready to march out in the freaking freezing cold tomorrow to watch the dream become a reality.
But that's just me.
On the day after the election, I called my grandmother who had supported Obama almost as long as I had, even though she was a white Catholic woman of a certain age. I got on the phone, ready to have the same little love fest that I had been having with all my friends since 11pm the night before.
Instead I heard silence, broken by tiny gasping tears.
"Uh... Grandma?" I asked. "Are you OK?" More silence. She eventually composed herself, and said, "MA honey, I am so happy for you. I know that you are probably happier than anyone else I know that Barack won last night. But you don't know what this means to me. What this means to anyone born before the 1980s. You weren't there. You didn't watch the news about those poor little girls in Birmingham. You missed the years when you didn't know who was next, first JFK then Martin Luther King then Bobby. You don't know. You weren't there."
It was my turn to be silent.
She went on to say that she wasn't trying to take anything away from MY victory and that in the end, all that mattered was that our guy had - finally! - won. But those words stuck with me. I didn't know. I wasn't there. That really applies to everyone, doesn't it? Don't get me wrong - she was dead on. I've recently finished "Listening is an Act of Love" - the "best of" collection of stories from StoryCorps - and while I don't consider myself a naive person, I was horrified by some of the tales of racism (and homophobia, and other things) that I read in that transcribed oral history. For those of you who lived through the civil rights movement, I'm sure Obama's victory means something completely different to you than it does to me.
But for the rest of you?
I'm ALSO sure that Obama's victory means something completely different to YOU all as well! So I want to hear - what does this mean to you. Republican, Democrats, young, old, black, white, gay, straight, Asian, Hispanic, Northerner, Southerner, midwest girl, farmer's daughter, etc. None of you are me, and I am none of you. We have this (WONDERFUL!! AMAZING!! FANTASMAGORICAL!!) shared experience of living through the inauguration of President Barack Hussein Obama, a first generation African from Hawaii raised by a single mother, highly educated, even-tempered, black man who is faced with a task so large that I'm going to go out on a limb and say that even FDR didn't have to deal with everything Obama will.
Sigh.
But that doesn't mean that we feel the same way about it (perhaps you would have thrown something instead of sighed). So enlighten me (and your fellow commenters). What are you thinking/feeling/crying about right now?
Oh, just me? Don't worry. I just had the best dream!
Pride - in the name of love
Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity.
But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.
In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check — a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.
It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.
But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.
We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back.
There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "For Whites Only". We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.
I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."
And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!
Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
(I hurt my right hand/wrist/arm yesterday and so almost everything I type for a little while will be left handed (until I drag my ass to the doctor, which will def be post-Wednesday, or until it stops hurting). I have another post for today, but it's going to take a little while to type, so bear with me and re-read Dr. King's immortal words to make you all happy. And weepy. And proud.)
But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize a shameful condition.
In a sense we have come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check — a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children.
It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges.
But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.
We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.
As we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back.
There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied, as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "For Whites Only". We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.
I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification; one day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim's pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring."
And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!
Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!
But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
(I hurt my right hand/wrist/arm yesterday and so almost everything I type for a little while will be left handed (until I drag my ass to the doctor, which will def be post-Wednesday, or until it stops hurting). I have another post for today, but it's going to take a little while to type, so bear with me and re-read Dr. King's immortal words to make you all happy. And weepy. And proud.)
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Update: OMG! INAUGURATION!
So.
Some of you asked for my final playlist for inaugural morning. I want you to keep in mind that while it's short and sweet, the whole point is, you know, to not hang around for any longer than it takes to put on seventeen layers of clothing and drink some Irished coffee.
Yum.
And so here it is. THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR SUGGESTIONS! And to Anna, thank you for your mp3ical contribution:
1. The Star Spangled Banner
2. Yes We Can
3. The Rising
4. We Shall Overcome
5. We Are the Champions
6. America the Beautiful (Ray Charles version - I love it)
7. Signed, Sealed, Delivered
Yay!!
Also, I am TOTALLY going to the Bloggerational Ball tonight - are you in? Are you SO EXCITED! Because I AM! (Obviously we're in the "manic" phase of my Obamasteria. Wee!)
Yes we did make playlists and yes we can go to balls.
Some of you asked for my final playlist for inaugural morning. I want you to keep in mind that while it's short and sweet, the whole point is, you know, to not hang around for any longer than it takes to put on seventeen layers of clothing and drink some Irished coffee.
Yum.
And so here it is. THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR SUGGESTIONS! And to Anna, thank you for your mp3ical contribution:
1. The Star Spangled Banner
2. Yes We Can
3. The Rising
4. We Shall Overcome
5. We Are the Champions
6. America the Beautiful (Ray Charles version - I love it)
7. Signed, Sealed, Delivered
Yay!!
Also, I am TOTALLY going to the Bloggerational Ball tonight - are you in? Are you SO EXCITED! Because I AM! (Obviously we're in the "manic" phase of my Obamasteria. Wee!)
Yes we did make playlists and yes we can go to balls.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Spontaneous ovulation, bursts of tears: the Inaugural
So.
I'm kind of a bitch. Not a super bitch, like Taylor Vaughn from "She's All That," and not only because I'm not stupid enough to sleep with a Real World "star" (this is because all the men they pick that are interesting are inevitably gay or incredibly angry, and those who are not interesting are the same neutered, over-educated under-intelligent muscles for brains douches).
I think I've gotten off topic.
Point is, I'm more in the LiLo "Mean Girls" mold - bitchy enough to be, well, called out about it in front of everyone in high school, but no more so than the next not-nice girl. Like Stacy Clinton! This makes me sound not exactly awesome, but I honestly believe that the majority of people are closer to me on the bitch spectrum than, say, Mother Theresa.
Or even Elle Woods.
Anyway, the point of all of this is that when I run into tourists in my life, whether in Chicago, New York or DC, I usually want to hurt them. I used to come out of the PATH when I first worked at Evil Corp and still lived at home, and would disdain those standing in front of the World Trade Center smiling and posing for pictures. I avoided Times Square at all costs. I never - ever - went up into the Sears Tower.
I don't go to the White House.
But? Something strange has been going on for the past few days. As some of you probably know, there's a rather large event going down in my town in just 3 short (yet interminable) days, and lots and lots of people have been pouring in. And typically, lots and lots of people in places - the Metro, the Mall, my apt building - that they don't belong drives me NUTS.
But somehow?
At every unfamiliar face, I get happier and happier. And happier, and happier, and happier, and then I get so happy I burst into tears. Actually, I've been bursting into tears a lot lately. When tourists smile at me. When my mom calls to discuss travel plans for Monday. When I look at my abfab beautiful dress(es) for ball(s). When I read a letter from a father to his daughters, outlining his vision for their - and all the children's - future.
Jezebel says spontaneous ovulation, I say spontaneous hysteria.
It's OBAMATIME people!!! My cake batter is ready for my sunrise O cake, there is champagne chilling in the fridge. There are boots and gloves and scarves and long underwear laying out to ensure that I don't "chill" in the "fridge"ID weather Tuesday (did you see what I did there) and there are shirts, hats and so many buttons with Obama's name and face and all sorts of likenesses on them that I kind of jangle when I walk. And though I have many layers protecting me, it still takes so little to knock down my defenses and make me sob.
All you gotta say is "President Obama."
I have 4 pre-parties, the Lincoln Memorial concert, 4 balls (or something like it), 5 house guests and a partridge in a pear tree. If by "partridge" you mean "crush" and "in a pear tree" you mean "on the Obama administration."
Seriously - Jon Favreau? I'm awesome in bed.
Point is - the bitchiness is strangely gone. I waited on line for hours (ok, minutes) yesterday to buy a new (comemorative!) Metro card, and I didn't care, even though my fingers thought they were going to freeze. Today four people stopped me in the subzero temperatures to ask for directions to things they were practically in front of, and I could have hugged them.
I heard a woman order a "small black coffee" at Starbucks, and I smiled.
It's a wonderful life people. A great time to be an American. A great time to be alive! I mean, I'm so happy, I'd even kiss a guy from the Real World.
Well. Maybe one of the gay ones.
And Arielle - I know this isn't a wedding post but I think you shouldn't be surprised that I'm on an Obamathon. It'll be over Tuesday and we'll be back to boozing and brides then.
GOBAMA!
I'm kind of a bitch. Not a super bitch, like Taylor Vaughn from "She's All That," and not only because I'm not stupid enough to sleep with a Real World "star" (this is because all the men they pick that are interesting are inevitably gay or incredibly angry, and those who are not interesting are the same neutered, over-educated under-intelligent muscles for brains douches).
I think I've gotten off topic.
Point is, I'm more in the LiLo "Mean Girls" mold - bitchy enough to be, well, called out about it in front of everyone in high school, but no more so than the next not-nice girl. Like Stacy Clinton! This makes me sound not exactly awesome, but I honestly believe that the majority of people are closer to me on the bitch spectrum than, say, Mother Theresa.
Or even Elle Woods.
Anyway, the point of all of this is that when I run into tourists in my life, whether in Chicago, New York or DC, I usually want to hurt them. I used to come out of the PATH when I first worked at Evil Corp and still lived at home, and would disdain those standing in front of the World Trade Center smiling and posing for pictures. I avoided Times Square at all costs. I never - ever - went up into the Sears Tower.
I don't go to the White House.
But? Something strange has been going on for the past few days. As some of you probably know, there's a rather large event going down in my town in just 3 short (yet interminable) days, and lots and lots of people have been pouring in. And typically, lots and lots of people in places - the Metro, the Mall, my apt building - that they don't belong drives me NUTS.
But somehow?
At every unfamiliar face, I get happier and happier. And happier, and happier, and happier, and then I get so happy I burst into tears. Actually, I've been bursting into tears a lot lately. When tourists smile at me. When my mom calls to discuss travel plans for Monday. When I look at my abfab beautiful dress(es) for ball(s). When I read a letter from a father to his daughters, outlining his vision for their - and all the children's - future.
Jezebel says spontaneous ovulation, I say spontaneous hysteria.
It's OBAMATIME people!!! My cake batter is ready for my sunrise O cake, there is champagne chilling in the fridge. There are boots and gloves and scarves and long underwear laying out to ensure that I don't "chill" in the "fridge"ID weather Tuesday (did you see what I did there) and there are shirts, hats and so many buttons with Obama's name and face and all sorts of likenesses on them that I kind of jangle when I walk. And though I have many layers protecting me, it still takes so little to knock down my defenses and make me sob.
All you gotta say is "President Obama."
I have 4 pre-parties, the Lincoln Memorial concert, 4 balls (or something like it), 5 house guests and a partridge in a pear tree. If by "partridge" you mean "crush" and "in a pear tree" you mean "on the Obama administration."
Seriously - Jon Favreau? I'm awesome in bed.
Point is - the bitchiness is strangely gone. I waited on line for hours (ok, minutes) yesterday to buy a new (comemorative!) Metro card, and I didn't care, even though my fingers thought they were going to freeze. Today four people stopped me in the subzero temperatures to ask for directions to things they were practically in front of, and I could have hugged them.
I heard a woman order a "small black coffee" at Starbucks, and I smiled.
It's a wonderful life people. A great time to be an American. A great time to be alive! I mean, I'm so happy, I'd even kiss a guy from the Real World.
Well. Maybe one of the gay ones.
And Arielle - I know this isn't a wedding post but I think you shouldn't be surprised that I'm on an Obamathon. It'll be over Tuesday and we'll be back to boozing and brides then.
GOBAMA!
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Birds on a Plane!
So.
I have nothing really to say, except, to the pilot Chesley Sullenberg (awesome name), crew and passengers of the USAirways flight that is currently floating in the Hudson: dude(s). Good job.
To the flock of geese that took the plane down: Pluck You!!
I have nothing really to say, except, to the pilot Chesley Sullenberg (awesome name), crew and passengers of the USAirways flight that is currently floating in the Hudson: dude(s). Good job.
To the flock of geese that took the plane down: Pluck You!!
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
O say can you see? And... hear?
So.
On an afternoon in late September, 2001 I went with a bunch of my new best friends to Soldier Field in Chicago to watch the Chicago Fire play. It was the end of our orientation to college, a VERY tumultuous nine days which would have been emotional enough if not for you know, the national tragedy that had occurred 4 days prior to commencement of undergrad. High School Ex had come down to Chicago, a bunch of us soccer fans had snagged tickets, and off we were to finally let off some of the steam that had been bubbling around (can steam bubble) for the past 9-13 days.
Now, I'm a competitive person. And I hate the Chicago Fire, having been a lifelong (well, lifelong since 1995) fan of the Metrostars (and no, I do not call them the Red Bulls). The Chicago Fire was evil. Satanic! Sell-outs! In short, they were good while we were not. So I expected to go and have a fantastic time booing and hissing at the players, the coaches and the "Barn Burners," their *special* fan section.
I did not expect to sob hysterically.
In retrospect I'm not sure why I was so surprised, although I do vaguely recall not being much of a crier prior to college. I was more of the stoic, laugh-when-you-want-to-cry-and-if-you-must-you-very-must-run-upstairs-find-a-pillow-and-shove-your-face-in-it.
Ha. Seriously.
So when the announcer came over the loudspeakers and asked us in English, Spanish and Polish to rise for the national anthem, I was somewhat shocked to find that my reaction went from bemusement that Polish was included to utter hysteria.
In 2 seconds flat.
It was the first time I had heard the national anthem since the memorial service I had attended at home in NJ on September 14, the night before I left for Chicago. That night, candle in one hand, my mother's sweater clenched tightly in the other, I didn't cry - I hadn't cried all week. I sat there, my entire body cold, as we honored the first 10 or so victims that we knew about from my hometown. I was surrounded by family and friends. I felt deep despair, yet shielded from it somehow.
Not so that day at Soldier Field.
As whatever 15-year-old blonde chick from the far South Side started to sing, I found myself completely overwhelmed in a way that horrified me. HSE patted my hair and held my hand, but that was in no way enough. As the young woman sang "and the rockets red glare/the bombs bursting in air" I howled like, well, a howitzer and tried to excuse myself, but couldn't move. As she asked "oh say does that star spangled banner yet wave" and the cheers rose from the crowd (the crowd not staring at me in disbelief), I tried to mop up my face and clap, but broke down as she ended tremulously with "the land of the free and the home of the brave".
It was, in short, embarassing.
I'm not a horribly patriotic person, at least in the anthem-and-flag sense. Never really have been. On Again Off Again Ex was shocked by my cavalier attitude towards the flag and even more so when I explained, "I grew up in NJ. If you hung flags over your house, they were probably Italian, German or Irish flags. Not American ones." Shortly after that day at Soldier Field, we went into Afghanistan and not too too long after that we attacked Iraq. My shortlived fervence about the flag died that day in March, and ever since then, including (I'm slightly ashamed to admit) the night of the Virginia Tech shooting when I was at the Yankee game, I've stood dutifully for the anthem, but no more moved by it than I would be by "Rockabye Baby" - a song you've known forever, but barely ever think about.
Not so tonight.
I was sitting here between push-up sets waiting for the Daily Show to go on and I decided to start making my playlist for Tuesday morning. I have several guests coming into town, plus Rachel and her bf and another friend of hers, and we are all getting up before the asscrack of dawn to make the trek into the District. Since I will still be hungover from one of the balls the night before, I thought it might be a good idea to have a little bit of music to wake me up, cheer everyone else up, and REV US UP for the history we will be a part of.
Whew, I'm inspired just thinking about it.
So I start to put songs on it. "Yes We Can" of course. "Signed Sealed and Delivered" - check! Some Bruce. Some Peter Paul and Mary. Some Queen.
We ARE the fucking champions.
Then I start to lose my train of thought, and therefore interest. I use the google to try to find inspiration, and I find a whole host of patriotic songs - My Country Tis of Thee, America the Beautiful, God Bless America. Right! I think. This is about AMERICA.
Duh.
So I go to find a copy of the Star Spangled Banner, thinking that much like Reveille (spelling?), that trumpety song you heard at camp, it would stir people to wake up, and at the very least, piss them off enough to get out of bed to figure out how to turn it off. So I get to a website that has free downloads of the song, and I click on one. It starts to play the John Phillip Sousa Band version.
And I burst into tears.
What a strange reaction, I am thinking, as I'm trying to wipe my cheeks. What the hell am I doing? Why am I crying? All I want is some music to play for President Obama's signing in... and the tears start anew.
Ahhhhhhh.
Anyway, now that I've gone on about my smug little "I am such a good little American" I need something from you guys - songs! After the incident with the national anthem I decided it was time to call it a night. So tell me - what do you think should be on my playlist. It should be inspiring. It should be exciting.
It CAN make me cry.
Let me know! What would make YOU want to get up, get happy and walk 2 miles in the sub-freezing cold to stand with 4 million of your closest friends to crane your neck at a jumbotron?
Hey, it beats running upstairs, shoving your face in a pillow and trying to snuff out the amazing emotion of this moment.
On an afternoon in late September, 2001 I went with a bunch of my new best friends to Soldier Field in Chicago to watch the Chicago Fire play. It was the end of our orientation to college, a VERY tumultuous nine days which would have been emotional enough if not for you know, the national tragedy that had occurred 4 days prior to commencement of undergrad. High School Ex had come down to Chicago, a bunch of us soccer fans had snagged tickets, and off we were to finally let off some of the steam that had been bubbling around (can steam bubble) for the past 9-13 days.
Now, I'm a competitive person. And I hate the Chicago Fire, having been a lifelong (well, lifelong since 1995) fan of the Metrostars (and no, I do not call them the Red Bulls). The Chicago Fire was evil. Satanic! Sell-outs! In short, they were good while we were not. So I expected to go and have a fantastic time booing and hissing at the players, the coaches and the "Barn Burners," their *special* fan section.
I did not expect to sob hysterically.
In retrospect I'm not sure why I was so surprised, although I do vaguely recall not being much of a crier prior to college. I was more of the stoic, laugh-when-you-want-to-cry-and-if-you-must-you-very-must-run-upstairs-find-a-pillow-and-shove-your-face-in-it.
Ha. Seriously.
So when the announcer came over the loudspeakers and asked us in English, Spanish and Polish to rise for the national anthem, I was somewhat shocked to find that my reaction went from bemusement that Polish was included to utter hysteria.
In 2 seconds flat.
It was the first time I had heard the national anthem since the memorial service I had attended at home in NJ on September 14, the night before I left for Chicago. That night, candle in one hand, my mother's sweater clenched tightly in the other, I didn't cry - I hadn't cried all week. I sat there, my entire body cold, as we honored the first 10 or so victims that we knew about from my hometown. I was surrounded by family and friends. I felt deep despair, yet shielded from it somehow.
Not so that day at Soldier Field.
As whatever 15-year-old blonde chick from the far South Side started to sing, I found myself completely overwhelmed in a way that horrified me. HSE patted my hair and held my hand, but that was in no way enough. As the young woman sang "and the rockets red glare/the bombs bursting in air" I howled like, well, a howitzer and tried to excuse myself, but couldn't move. As she asked "oh say does that star spangled banner yet wave" and the cheers rose from the crowd (the crowd not staring at me in disbelief), I tried to mop up my face and clap, but broke down as she ended tremulously with "the land of the free and the home of the brave".
It was, in short, embarassing.
I'm not a horribly patriotic person, at least in the anthem-and-flag sense. Never really have been. On Again Off Again Ex was shocked by my cavalier attitude towards the flag and even more so when I explained, "I grew up in NJ. If you hung flags over your house, they were probably Italian, German or Irish flags. Not American ones." Shortly after that day at Soldier Field, we went into Afghanistan and not too too long after that we attacked Iraq. My shortlived fervence about the flag died that day in March, and ever since then, including (I'm slightly ashamed to admit) the night of the Virginia Tech shooting when I was at the Yankee game, I've stood dutifully for the anthem, but no more moved by it than I would be by "Rockabye Baby" - a song you've known forever, but barely ever think about.
Not so tonight.
I was sitting here between push-up sets waiting for the Daily Show to go on and I decided to start making my playlist for Tuesday morning. I have several guests coming into town, plus Rachel and her bf and another friend of hers, and we are all getting up before the asscrack of dawn to make the trek into the District. Since I will still be hungover from one of the balls the night before, I thought it might be a good idea to have a little bit of music to wake me up, cheer everyone else up, and REV US UP for the history we will be a part of.
Whew, I'm inspired just thinking about it.
So I start to put songs on it. "Yes We Can" of course. "Signed Sealed and Delivered" - check! Some Bruce. Some Peter Paul and Mary. Some Queen.
We ARE the fucking champions.
Then I start to lose my train of thought, and therefore interest. I use the google to try to find inspiration, and I find a whole host of patriotic songs - My Country Tis of Thee, America the Beautiful, God Bless America. Right! I think. This is about AMERICA.
Duh.
So I go to find a copy of the Star Spangled Banner, thinking that much like Reveille (spelling?), that trumpety song you heard at camp, it would stir people to wake up, and at the very least, piss them off enough to get out of bed to figure out how to turn it off. So I get to a website that has free downloads of the song, and I click on one. It starts to play the John Phillip Sousa Band version.
And I burst into tears.
What a strange reaction, I am thinking, as I'm trying to wipe my cheeks. What the hell am I doing? Why am I crying? All I want is some music to play for President Obama's signing in... and the tears start anew.
Ahhhhhhh.
Anyway, now that I've gone on about my smug little "I am such a good little American" I need something from you guys - songs! After the incident with the national anthem I decided it was time to call it a night. So tell me - what do you think should be on my playlist. It should be inspiring. It should be exciting.
It CAN make me cry.
Let me know! What would make YOU want to get up, get happy and walk 2 miles in the sub-freezing cold to stand with 4 million of your closest friends to crane your neck at a jumbotron?
Hey, it beats running upstairs, shoving your face in a pillow and trying to snuff out the amazing emotion of this moment.
Monday, January 12, 2009
When James Lipton and I sit down
So.
I can't seem to finish this g-d wedding post and I don't want to do the one on inaugural nonsense until the wedding one is done, soooooo I'm giving a shout out to Sarah because she has amazing taste in movies and because this gives me an out for the day for the day. Gracias Sarah!
What is your favorite word? Kumquat. And ostentatious. True joy would be the ability to say "ostentatious kumquat" or "kumquatty ostentatiousness" or the like.
What is your least favorite word? shhhhh!
What turns you on creatively, spiritually, emotionally? creatively - ugh. Bad chick lit? Cause I say, man I could do this better? Spiritually - the theme song to the West Wing. And "Though the Mountains May Fall". And Christmas music - mostly nonsecular. Emotionally - everything. Depends on the day. Most recently, "Listening is an Act of Love". It's amazing.
What turns you off? feeling fat.
What sound do you love? Friends DVDs getting fainter because that means I'm falling asleep.
What sound do you hate? Sarah Palin’s voice. (Going with Sarah's answer there)
What is your favorite curse word? motherfucker. FUCKING motherfucker.
What profession other than yours would you like to attempt? Michelle Obama's Chief of Staff.
What profession would you not like to do? nurse. My legs would hurt.
If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates? "Either you're in, or you're out!" Like Heidi. But no "auf wiedersehen".
That is all. What would you say to James?
I can't seem to finish this g-d wedding post and I don't want to do the one on inaugural nonsense until the wedding one is done, soooooo I'm giving a shout out to Sarah because she has amazing taste in movies and because this gives me an out for the day for the day. Gracias Sarah!
What is your favorite word? Kumquat. And ostentatious. True joy would be the ability to say "ostentatious kumquat" or "kumquatty ostentatiousness" or the like.
What is your least favorite word? shhhhh!
What turns you on creatively, spiritually, emotionally? creatively - ugh. Bad chick lit? Cause I say, man I could do this better? Spiritually - the theme song to the West Wing. And "Though the Mountains May Fall". And Christmas music - mostly nonsecular. Emotionally - everything. Depends on the day. Most recently, "Listening is an Act of Love". It's amazing.
What turns you off? feeling fat.
What sound do you love? Friends DVDs getting fainter because that means I'm falling asleep.
What sound do you hate? Sarah Palin’s voice. (Going with Sarah's answer there)
What is your favorite curse word? motherfucker. FUCKING motherfucker.
What profession other than yours would you like to attempt? Michelle Obama's Chief of Staff.
What profession would you not like to do? nurse. My legs would hurt.
If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates? "Either you're in, or you're out!" Like Heidi. But no "auf wiedersehen".
That is all. What would you say to James?
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Bride Wars? I regretfully will not be in attendance.
So.
I love really bad movies. Strike that. I love really bad romantic COMEDIES. The vicariousness they provide, whether it's a kiss with Patrick Dempsey, a long love affair with your best friend, or just feeling that somewhere out there there IS someone for you even if it's the brother of the one you had selected,* is absolute crack cocaine to me.
And no intervention will work.
But starting with 27 Dresses last year, heading through Maid of Honor and now with Bride Wars, I've been noticing an alarming trend. A "meh" trend, if you will.
I don't want to see wedding movies.
A cynical person would say that this is because there's enough wedding drama going on in my own life (check in tomorrow!) but I don't think this is true. I think it's because these movies lately have been crap.
Like a bag of flour instead of the good stuff.
I enjoyed 27 Dresses, don't get me wrong. But... I didn't pay for it. I DID pay for Maid of Honor, and I was so disappointed with the movie that I think I talked about it for months (and as Becca said, "if you didn't like it, it must really be bad"). I mean, what a cheap ending. I could have written a better ending than that. In fact, I did while the credits were running, and I believe both Grace and Emilia agreed with me that my 30 second rewrite would have made the movie 300% better. I mean, I didn't even cry.
Like, not at ALL.
And now we have Bride Wars. Kate Hudson is a veteran of the romcom scene, mostly because of her RESOUNDING success in what I would argue is the best romantic comedy thus far of this millennium. I am speaking, of course, of "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days." Now THAT was a romcom. Matthew McConaughy - hot. New York as setting - awesome. Girl kicks butt, kicks out evil boss, and wins our hearts and the guy - dead on. Plus, that scene with the ferry gets me EVERY TIME.
Sigh. Want to watch.
Anne Hathaway, of course, is my abfave. ABFAVE! She pretty much created the kick-ass princess role that I have been lusting after my entire life, vis a vis Princess Diaries and Ella Enchanted. And she's from New Jersey. What more could you want, I thought. But then she and Kate went and made Bride Wars.
I mean, ladies.
This movie looks like crap. Arielle actually was looking at working on it way back when, and when she first told me about it I was like OOOOOOOOH MY GOD I WANT TO SEE IT. But as the plot came out - best friends since childbirth, and they let a wedding get in the way?! - the bile started to rise. Trust me, I am a girl who has had her wedding planned since she was 8, and there is no way I'd let some dumb freaking party get between me and a childhood friend. Fuck that, it wouldn't get between me and anyone who wasn't like "man you look fat in that dress" or "this party is gonna SUUUUUUCK".
Seriously.
It just kind of offends me to watch awesome actresses behaving in this way. If you wanted to have a really good wedding romcom with Hudson and Hathaway, here is a thought: one of them is getting married. The maid of honor is in love with the groom. Hilarity, tears and drama ensues.** I would pay the exhorbitant movie fees for THAT movie. This is just SO MUCH BETTER than the stupid nonplot of Bride Wars, which I will not be seeing. And so I have a little proclamation, a fatwa if you will. Hey Hollywood - start making wedding movies that rock. Think, the Philadelphia Story. Think, My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Think, the Wedding freaking Singer, for chrissakes. Even another J.Lo Wedding Planner, or a Southern Belle Sweet Home Alabama would be amazing. I will come out there and do it for you, if it will only make you finally produce something worthy.
In short: stop. making. crap.
Because you're about to lose me. ME! The girl who has been single-handedly carrying your little saccharine sweet drug trade for years. And that would truly be a tragedy for my vicariousity addiction.
*Name these movies, maybe win a prize! Or... an accolade from me! In the comments section!
**Same for this book. Go!
I love really bad movies. Strike that. I love really bad romantic COMEDIES. The vicariousness they provide, whether it's a kiss with Patrick Dempsey, a long love affair with your best friend, or just feeling that somewhere out there there IS someone for you even if it's the brother of the one you had selected,* is absolute crack cocaine to me.
And no intervention will work.
But starting with 27 Dresses last year, heading through Maid of Honor and now with Bride Wars, I've been noticing an alarming trend. A "meh" trend, if you will.
I don't want to see wedding movies.
A cynical person would say that this is because there's enough wedding drama going on in my own life (check in tomorrow!) but I don't think this is true. I think it's because these movies lately have been crap.
Like a bag of flour instead of the good stuff.
I enjoyed 27 Dresses, don't get me wrong. But... I didn't pay for it. I DID pay for Maid of Honor, and I was so disappointed with the movie that I think I talked about it for months (and as Becca said, "if you didn't like it, it must really be bad"). I mean, what a cheap ending. I could have written a better ending than that. In fact, I did while the credits were running, and I believe both Grace and Emilia agreed with me that my 30 second rewrite would have made the movie 300% better. I mean, I didn't even cry.
Like, not at ALL.
And now we have Bride Wars. Kate Hudson is a veteran of the romcom scene, mostly because of her RESOUNDING success in what I would argue is the best romantic comedy thus far of this millennium. I am speaking, of course, of "How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days." Now THAT was a romcom. Matthew McConaughy - hot. New York as setting - awesome. Girl kicks butt, kicks out evil boss, and wins our hearts and the guy - dead on. Plus, that scene with the ferry gets me EVERY TIME.
Sigh. Want to watch.
Anne Hathaway, of course, is my abfave. ABFAVE! She pretty much created the kick-ass princess role that I have been lusting after my entire life, vis a vis Princess Diaries and Ella Enchanted. And she's from New Jersey. What more could you want, I thought. But then she and Kate went and made Bride Wars.
I mean, ladies.
This movie looks like crap. Arielle actually was looking at working on it way back when, and when she first told me about it I was like OOOOOOOOH MY GOD I WANT TO SEE IT. But as the plot came out - best friends since childbirth, and they let a wedding get in the way?! - the bile started to rise. Trust me, I am a girl who has had her wedding planned since she was 8, and there is no way I'd let some dumb freaking party get between me and a childhood friend. Fuck that, it wouldn't get between me and anyone who wasn't like "man you look fat in that dress" or "this party is gonna SUUUUUUCK".
Seriously.
It just kind of offends me to watch awesome actresses behaving in this way. If you wanted to have a really good wedding romcom with Hudson and Hathaway, here is a thought: one of them is getting married. The maid of honor is in love with the groom. Hilarity, tears and drama ensues.** I would pay the exhorbitant movie fees for THAT movie. This is just SO MUCH BETTER than the stupid nonplot of Bride Wars, which I will not be seeing. And so I have a little proclamation, a fatwa if you will. Hey Hollywood - start making wedding movies that rock. Think, the Philadelphia Story. Think, My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Think, the Wedding freaking Singer, for chrissakes. Even another J.Lo Wedding Planner, or a Southern Belle Sweet Home Alabama would be amazing. I will come out there and do it for you, if it will only make you finally produce something worthy.
In short: stop. making. crap.
Because you're about to lose me. ME! The girl who has been single-handedly carrying your little saccharine sweet drug trade for years. And that would truly be a tragedy for my vicariousity addiction.
*Name these movies, maybe win a prize! Or... an accolade from me! In the comments section!
**Same for this book. Go!
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Update: Karaoke Cab
So.
First of all, thank you DC Blogs for the shout out!! SO exciting!!! Also, I just wanted to let y'all know that if you want Angelo's (the karaoke cab amazing man) phone number, please email me! He's fantastic, and you can sing anything! But I recommend the Bon Jovi.
First of all, thank you DC Blogs for the shout out!! SO exciting!!! Also, I just wanted to let y'all know that if you want Angelo's (the karaoke cab amazing man) phone number, please email me! He's fantastic, and you can sing anything! But I recommend the Bon Jovi.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Big Yellow AMAZING Taxi
So.
On Friday I spent 9 hours with Leah, who recently had horrible surgery and is pretty much laid up until her new bionic knee thinks it can do bionic things.
Which will hopefully be soon.
But staying as late as I did meant cabbing it home - though we don't live very far from each other, it was late, dark and a little creepy (because I am paranoid). And since I don't live very far away, the cab fare was cheap.
So I hailed a cab.
I got in, looked out the window, and as we started driving down the deserted streets thanked the gods I had decided to shell out because I could imagine myself jogging down a ritzy suburban street at 2am screaming AHHHHHHHHH RAPIST! when it was really just a wayward garbage can. We cruised along, and I recognized the strains of Bon Jovi coming off the radio. I smiled to myself, NOW thanking the gods I wasn't in any way inebriated because I would (as Becca and some cabbie in Chicago know all to well) easily join in. But still, I looked up ahead to see what radio station he was playing.
And saw the karaoke screen.
I mean - KARAOKE!! SCREEN!! THE DUDE HAD A KARAOKE MACHINE IN HIS CAR! AND IT WAS PLAYING BON JOVI!! I thought for a second we had crashed and I was in heaven. I looked around for the keg of champagne and naked Jake Gyllenhaals, but they were nowhere to be found. Instead my cabbie was smiling tentatively at me, holding the microphone out to me.
Oh. My. God.
I was so happy. SO HAPPY! I shook my head and told him I didn't want to sing, but he was happy to oblige and started singing. We hit my apartment, but sat there in the parking lot as he serenaded me with "Bed of Roses".
Amazing.
I tipped him extraordinarily well, got his number for the next time I'm drunk and need a Bon Jovi cab ride. I skipped out of the car, not having been as pleased about an expenditure since I bought my first Obama button. I pocketed the number, then thought better of it and stuck it in my wallet next to my credit card so that my drunk ass will be able to find it easily. Cause I mean, what better way to travel than by singing "Living on a Prayer" in the back of a cab?
On Friday I spent 9 hours with Leah, who recently had horrible surgery and is pretty much laid up until her new bionic knee thinks it can do bionic things.
Which will hopefully be soon.
But staying as late as I did meant cabbing it home - though we don't live very far from each other, it was late, dark and a little creepy (because I am paranoid). And since I don't live very far away, the cab fare was cheap.
So I hailed a cab.
I got in, looked out the window, and as we started driving down the deserted streets thanked the gods I had decided to shell out because I could imagine myself jogging down a ritzy suburban street at 2am screaming AHHHHHHHHH RAPIST! when it was really just a wayward garbage can. We cruised along, and I recognized the strains of Bon Jovi coming off the radio. I smiled to myself, NOW thanking the gods I wasn't in any way inebriated because I would (as Becca and some cabbie in Chicago know all to well) easily join in. But still, I looked up ahead to see what radio station he was playing.
And saw the karaoke screen.
I mean - KARAOKE!! SCREEN!! THE DUDE HAD A KARAOKE MACHINE IN HIS CAR! AND IT WAS PLAYING BON JOVI!! I thought for a second we had crashed and I was in heaven. I looked around for the keg of champagne and naked Jake Gyllenhaals, but they were nowhere to be found. Instead my cabbie was smiling tentatively at me, holding the microphone out to me.
Oh. My. God.
I was so happy. SO HAPPY! I shook my head and told him I didn't want to sing, but he was happy to oblige and started singing. We hit my apartment, but sat there in the parking lot as he serenaded me with "Bed of Roses".
Amazing.
I tipped him extraordinarily well, got his number for the next time I'm drunk and need a Bon Jovi cab ride. I skipped out of the car, not having been as pleased about an expenditure since I bought my first Obama button. I pocketed the number, then thought better of it and stuck it in my wallet next to my credit card so that my drunk ass will be able to find it easily. Cause I mean, what better way to travel than by singing "Living on a Prayer" in the back of a cab?
Thursday, January 1, 2009
MA's Diary
So.
It all began on New Year's Day in my 25th year of being single.* Once again, I found myself alone.
And so I made a major decision. I had to make sure that next year. I wouldn't end up shit-faced and listening to sad FM easy-listening for the over-twenties. I decided to take control of my life.
And don't get me wrong, I still think it's silly.
But maybe it's cause change is in the air, or maybe it's cause I'm happier with life, or maybe it's because I'm just feeling complacent and not angrily hungover, this year is all about change I can believe in.
The problem is, of course, that that's not a lot.
New Year's is a time for making resolutions, but then February is a time for breaking them. I don't think that this is a reason not to make them - somehow I do every year - but the fact of the matter is that in accepting that you're likely to break them, you're, well, likelier to break them.
However.
In light of the season, and with the knowledge that it is a short 5 years until my 30th year, and due the fact that when I was flipping channels yesterday Lifetime had a lovely movie on "7 things to do before 30," I thought I'd make my resolutions for the next half decade or so. That way, when I fuck up in 2009, I still have 2010, 2011, 2012 and half of 2013 to go!
30 things to do before I turn 30
1. Finish getting all 50 state quarters in my "special rules" way.
2. Get thee to Texas.
3. Re-take French.
4. Finally see the Magnificent Seven.
5. Friend one of the recent exes (there are two options) on Facebook.
6. Skinny dip.
7. Walk through Bedford Stuy alone.
8. Sing "House of the Rising Sun" in public. Karaoke is ok.
9. Get to my great-grandmother's, grandfather's, and former teacher's graves and put pretty flowers on them.
10. Buy "Elegance"-worthy lingerie. I'm thinking La Perla.
11. Go properly camping. Once.
12. Have a BMI less than 25 (this has to be true AT my 30th birthday. It would also help if it were true for my 28.5th birthday, ie when I'm assuming my 10th year reunion is).
13. For real learn to knit. In fact, knit a scarf and a hat.
14. Memorize Moonlight Sonata on the piano.
15. Do Story Corps with my grandmother and grandfather.
16. Watch Schindler's List. The entire thing.
17. Get published, even if it's a 250 word silly block in Cosmo entitled, "How to lick your man's nipples."
18. Read two of Joyce's novels.
19. Go to the top of the Sears Tower
20. Finish my family tree (well, you know. Make it easy to add to). Can be done on Geni.
21. Go on a road trip. Can be done via bus or train (you know, gas won't always be at $1.37)
22. Volunteer for 100 hours
23. Get personally shopped for, at least once.
24. Stay at the Waldorf Astoria.
25. Go to a new foreign country
26. Read Don Quixote and the Inferno in the original languages.
27. Watch all the movies in the AFI's top 10 list
28. Go to Edinburgh and don't "stalk" JK Rowling, but you know, tour a few coffee shops.
29. In a similar vein, find and purchase first editions of the Harry Potters I'm missing.
30. Go a mile on a hippity hop.
We'll keep the progress yearly, and also, I'll let you know when I finish one. This is going to be an exciting, Obamarific 2009, I can positively FEEL it. What are YOU trying to do this year, this decade, this century?
*Is it my 25th or 26th year? I feel like 26th, but in BJD she says "32nd year" and then she turns 33.
It all began on New Year's Day in my 25th year of being single.* Once again, I found myself alone.
And so I made a major decision. I had to make sure that next year. I wouldn't end up shit-faced and listening to sad FM easy-listening for the over-twenties. I decided to take control of my life.
Resolution #1: will obviously lose 20 lbs.Well another year has come and gone. Last year I was um, shall we say, negative about the holiday and I thought this year would be no different.
#2: always put last night's panties in the laundry basket.
Equally important: will find nice sensible boyfriend and stop forming romantic attachments to any of the following: alcoholics, workoholics, sexaholics, commitment-phobics, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits, or perverts. Will especially stop fantasizing about a particular person who embodies all these things.
And don't get me wrong, I still think it's silly.
But maybe it's cause change is in the air, or maybe it's cause I'm happier with life, or maybe it's because I'm just feeling complacent and not angrily hungover, this year is all about change I can believe in.
The problem is, of course, that that's not a lot.
New Year's is a time for making resolutions, but then February is a time for breaking them. I don't think that this is a reason not to make them - somehow I do every year - but the fact of the matter is that in accepting that you're likely to break them, you're, well, likelier to break them.
However.
In light of the season, and with the knowledge that it is a short 5 years until my 30th year, and due the fact that when I was flipping channels yesterday Lifetime had a lovely movie on "7 things to do before 30," I thought I'd make my resolutions for the next half decade or so. That way, when I fuck up in 2009, I still have 2010, 2011, 2012 and half of 2013 to go!
30 things to do before I turn 30
1. Finish getting all 50 state quarters in my "special rules" way.
2. Get thee to Texas.
3. Re-take French.
4. Finally see the Magnificent Seven.
5. Friend one of the recent exes (there are two options) on Facebook.
6. Skinny dip.
7. Walk through Bedford Stuy alone.
8. Sing "House of the Rising Sun" in public. Karaoke is ok.
9. Get to my great-grandmother's, grandfather's, and former teacher's graves and put pretty flowers on them.
10. Buy "Elegance"-worthy lingerie. I'm thinking La Perla.
11. Go properly camping. Once.
12. Have a BMI less than 25 (this has to be true AT my 30th birthday. It would also help if it were true for my 28.5th birthday, ie when I'm assuming my 10th year reunion is).
13. For real learn to knit. In fact, knit a scarf and a hat.
14. Memorize Moonlight Sonata on the piano.
15. Do Story Corps with my grandmother and grandfather.
16. Watch Schindler's List. The entire thing.
17. Get published, even if it's a 250 word silly block in Cosmo entitled, "How to lick your man's nipples."
18. Read two of Joyce's novels.
19. Go to the top of the Sears Tower
20. Finish my family tree (well, you know. Make it easy to add to). Can be done on Geni.
21. Go on a road trip. Can be done via bus or train (you know, gas won't always be at $1.37)
22. Volunteer for 100 hours
23. Get personally shopped for, at least once.
24. Stay at the Waldorf Astoria.
25. Go to a new foreign country
26. Read Don Quixote and the Inferno in the original languages.
27. Watch all the movies in the AFI's top 10 list
28. Go to Edinburgh and don't "stalk" JK Rowling, but you know, tour a few coffee shops.
29. In a similar vein, find and purchase first editions of the Harry Potters I'm missing.
30. Go a mile on a hippity hop.
We'll keep the progress yearly, and also, I'll let you know when I finish one. This is going to be an exciting, Obamarific 2009, I can positively FEEL it. What are YOU trying to do this year, this decade, this century?
*Is it my 25th or 26th year? I feel like 26th, but in BJD she says "32nd year" and then she turns 33.
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