I'm not a big fan of Jeanie Zelasko. And I'm definitely nervous about benching Youkilis for Ortiz given the no DH rule in Game 3 tonight. But I swear to God JZ (ha ha, that's funny) just said the following:
"Don't worry about the glove, Ortiz, just bring the bat."
Right, cuz nothing bad has ever happened to the Red Sox down the 1st baseline due to "glove trouble" in the World Series before. Wanker.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
On not ready to make nice...
I often take a great deal of crap for my taste in music. Not all of it. Just some. The fact of the matter is I truly like a little bit of everything, having grown up around, well, everything. But I'm not ashamed that my car radio is tuned, more often than not, to a pop music station. I grew up watching way too much MTV and VH1 and listening to radio stations called 92 Moose. No, that's not a joke.
I take the most crap for the female artists I enjoy. Bonnie Raitt can never be ripped on without the threat of a slap across your face, but I know some find me silly for admiring people like Sheryl Crow and the Dixie Chicks.
The thing is, I really can't be bothered with female artists unless they're the kind of woman I'd want to hang out with socially. Otherwise, what exactly do we have in common? How can I really relate to your art? And, since it's fact that the music business is tougher on female artists, I respect the few and proud who survive, particularly without nudity or any sort of skank factor. Now, in the spirit of full disclosure, the one exception to the "could I grab a beer with this chick sometime" rule is the "does the song have a beat strong enough to make me want to shake my arse?". I'll blast that on the radio as well.
I came home tonight delighted to find the Dixie Chicks "Storytellers" on VH1. This really is one of my more favorite series and I wish it was one I could catch more regularly. Some might say that knowing the story takes the fun out of the personal interpretation music allows, but as an English major who always felt guilty for making assumptions about the motivations of the writers I was reading, I appreciate the ability to marvel at the art behind the spinning of the true tale. For example, take Silent House. I never knew it was about Natalie's grandmother suffering with Alzheimer's.
And I will try to connect
All the pieces you left
I will carry it on
And let you forget
And I'll remember the years
When your mind was clear
How the laughter and life
Filled up this silent house
The song that got me the most worked up, as it always does, is Not Ready to Make Nice. The ladies described it as the only therapy after the media backlash (instigated by America's favorite redneck Toby Keith) brought upon the band in light of some unfavorable, but honest and candid remarks about the current administration. I adore this song and will turn it "up to 11" whenever I hear it. It's sad to say that I've related to this song on a number of levels, but oddly enough, more in terms of career struggles faced in the last year. How odd it could relate, but it does. Of course I also tune it to past relationships, both platonic and romantic, but, at its core, simply appreciate the honesty of the reaction and the pain of suppression and misunderstanding. I leave the lyrics for you now. I hope you might pull it up on YouTube and enjoy it for yourself. I love the mixture of melodies used, guiding you on a journey of melancholy then anger, weakness then strength. It's my personal war cry whenever needed.
As a parting thought, shame on you VH1 for playing a Toby Keith video after the episode tonight. Does somebody out there still think he didn't have his fair share of airtime or was it a sophomoric attempt at being clever? Either way, it lacked class.
"Not Ready To Make Nice"
Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting
I’m through with doubt
There’s nothing left for me to figure out
I’ve paid a price
And I’ll keep paying
I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should
I know you said
Can’t you just get over it
It turned my whole world around
And I kind of like it
I made my bed and I sleep like a baby
With no regrets and I don’t mind sayin’
It’s a sad sad story when a mother will teach her
Daughter that she ought to hate a perfect stranger
And how in the world can the words that I said
Send somebody so over the edge
That they’d write me a letter
Sayin’ that I better shut up and sing
Or my life will be over
I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should
I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should
Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting
I take the most crap for the female artists I enjoy. Bonnie Raitt can never be ripped on without the threat of a slap across your face, but I know some find me silly for admiring people like Sheryl Crow and the Dixie Chicks.
The thing is, I really can't be bothered with female artists unless they're the kind of woman I'd want to hang out with socially. Otherwise, what exactly do we have in common? How can I really relate to your art? And, since it's fact that the music business is tougher on female artists, I respect the few and proud who survive, particularly without nudity or any sort of skank factor. Now, in the spirit of full disclosure, the one exception to the "could I grab a beer with this chick sometime" rule is the "does the song have a beat strong enough to make me want to shake my arse?". I'll blast that on the radio as well.
I came home tonight delighted to find the Dixie Chicks "Storytellers" on VH1. This really is one of my more favorite series and I wish it was one I could catch more regularly. Some might say that knowing the story takes the fun out of the personal interpretation music allows, but as an English major who always felt guilty for making assumptions about the motivations of the writers I was reading, I appreciate the ability to marvel at the art behind the spinning of the true tale. For example, take Silent House. I never knew it was about Natalie's grandmother suffering with Alzheimer's.
And I will try to connect
All the pieces you left
I will carry it on
And let you forget
And I'll remember the years
When your mind was clear
How the laughter and life
Filled up this silent house
The song that got me the most worked up, as it always does, is Not Ready to Make Nice. The ladies described it as the only therapy after the media backlash (instigated by America's favorite redneck Toby Keith) brought upon the band in light of some unfavorable, but honest and candid remarks about the current administration. I adore this song and will turn it "up to 11" whenever I hear it. It's sad to say that I've related to this song on a number of levels, but oddly enough, more in terms of career struggles faced in the last year. How odd it could relate, but it does. Of course I also tune it to past relationships, both platonic and romantic, but, at its core, simply appreciate the honesty of the reaction and the pain of suppression and misunderstanding. I leave the lyrics for you now. I hope you might pull it up on YouTube and enjoy it for yourself. I love the mixture of melodies used, guiding you on a journey of melancholy then anger, weakness then strength. It's my personal war cry whenever needed.
As a parting thought, shame on you VH1 for playing a Toby Keith video after the episode tonight. Does somebody out there still think he didn't have his fair share of airtime or was it a sophomoric attempt at being clever? Either way, it lacked class.
"Not Ready To Make Nice"
Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting
I’m through with doubt
There’s nothing left for me to figure out
I’ve paid a price
And I’ll keep paying
I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should
I know you said
Can’t you just get over it
It turned my whole world around
And I kind of like it
I made my bed and I sleep like a baby
With no regrets and I don’t mind sayin’
It’s a sad sad story when a mother will teach her
Daughter that she ought to hate a perfect stranger
And how in the world can the words that I said
Send somebody so over the edge
That they’d write me a letter
Sayin’ that I better shut up and sing
Or my life will be over
I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should
I’m not ready to make nice
I’m not ready to back down
I’m still mad as hell and
I don’t have time to go round and round and round
It’s too late to make it right
I probably wouldn’t if I could
‘Cause I’m mad as hell
Can’t bring myself to do what it is you think I should
Forgive, sounds good
Forget, I’m not sure I could
They say time heals everything
But I’m still waiting
On a compact sized problem..
I just returned home from New York. I couldn't be happier. Particularly given the fact that I opted to take the Metro home during a power outage that I was not aware of (aka very heavy suitcase and multiple steep escalators with.. again.. no power... aka stairs.) Though I would sincerely chop off the toes on my right foot for New York pizza right now, I am pleased as punch to be curled up on my couch, awaiting the start of Game 3.
I was very sleepy this morning. It was entirely my fault. A marathon phone conversation initiated by my overly chatty self ended around 1:30 and I had to be up by 6. Luckily, the breakfast I was rising for was excellent, as was the program to kick off the day. As I sat there listening to 6 high school students speak as to why their individual high schools were so inspiring, the woman to my left, a lovely counselor advocate from California, opened her purse to get out her lipstick and compact.
As she closed the compact, I noticed the writing on the outside of the mirror. "Women in Educational Leadership". A makeup compact.
I was so bloody irritated.
Could the subliminal marketing be any more apparent? Be a leader! But don't furget to look purtty. Don't get me wrong. I get it. I'm often using the back of my shiny Blackberry or the reflective section of my cell phone to check my teeth and apply the occasional lip gloss. I'm not saying it's not useful. It's just ... annoying. Seriously annoying.
Next time, make a money clip.
I was very sleepy this morning. It was entirely my fault. A marathon phone conversation initiated by my overly chatty self ended around 1:30 and I had to be up by 6. Luckily, the breakfast I was rising for was excellent, as was the program to kick off the day. As I sat there listening to 6 high school students speak as to why their individual high schools were so inspiring, the woman to my left, a lovely counselor advocate from California, opened her purse to get out her lipstick and compact.
As she closed the compact, I noticed the writing on the outside of the mirror. "Women in Educational Leadership". A makeup compact.
I was so bloody irritated.
Could the subliminal marketing be any more apparent? Be a leader! But don't furget to look purtty. Don't get me wrong. I get it. I'm often using the back of my shiny Blackberry or the reflective section of my cell phone to check my teeth and apply the occasional lip gloss. I'm not saying it's not useful. It's just ... annoying. Seriously annoying.
Next time, make a money clip.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
On warm blankets..
"Oh crap, my boobs are in the way."
I bet our waiter never heard that one before.
Tonight I was wrapped in the warm embrace of dinner with a dear friend. As such, in a matter of minutes, we were as crass and comfortable as ever, discussing everything from whose husband and boyfriend is probably gay to butt pimples. And then the waiter tried to place my entree in front of me. But, well, my boobs were in the way.
Chrissy took me to dinner at this fantastic Swedish restaurant. We scored a table by the window which was also fantastic, but tight. She's a size 0, I'm decidedly not, and even she had to squeeze into her seat. In terms of table size, if I extended my arms in front of me, I could have hugged her. Hence the waiter needing to negotiate my chest as he brought my dinner.
"Oh my God," Chrissy hooted. "Now he can't help but look!"
Chrissy became a very fast friend in 2001. She started work at our place of employment just a couple of short weeks before me and, as with most "classmates" at work, we became close despite some major differences. Chrissy is thin and petite. I am taller and curvier. She's brunette, I'm blonde (ish). She's from New York; I'm from New England. She's hot. I'm "grandma pretty" (see my friend Meg for a definition). Chrissy is an aggressor; I tend to watch from the sidelines. Chrissy is a shopaholic who returns everything she buys. I am a shopaholic who buys things that don't fit but is too lazy to return them and just increases her credit card debt whilst looking ridiculous.
Yes, we couldn't be more different in a lot of respects. But we get along famously.
Chrissy is also incredibly smart and is one of my favorite friend stories. She's completely self-made and has enjoyed tremendous success due to a lot of hard work and determination. As I enjoyed the view from her 41st floor apartment near Wall Street tonight, I marveled at what she has achieved.
I am incredibly proud of my girlfriends. Those of us who are unmarried, without kids and currently falling victim to the puzzled looks our married peers with children are left at times to feel as if we've made a dreadful sacrifice. "We're getting old," Chrissy lamented tonight. But I'm just in awe of the incredible women in my life who are really lighting the world on fire, even though they may not realize it, professionally. We're kind of a stellar group, if you don't mind me saying.
She also has a wonderful boyfriend who I like more with every encounter. Of course, what I like most about him, in addition to the fact that he's friendly, hugs me back when I greet him and actually converses with me, is that he basically worships the ground she walks on. But not in a creepy way. The simple fact of the matter is he adores her and respects her, and loves taking care of her. I loved watching them interact. And I loved, really loved, seeing her so completely happy.
There's no greater gift than seeing those you care about reach those moments in life when they can't help but smile. Particularly because I couldn't help but smile in return.
I bet our waiter never heard that one before.
Tonight I was wrapped in the warm embrace of dinner with a dear friend. As such, in a matter of minutes, we were as crass and comfortable as ever, discussing everything from whose husband and boyfriend is probably gay to butt pimples. And then the waiter tried to place my entree in front of me. But, well, my boobs were in the way.
Chrissy took me to dinner at this fantastic Swedish restaurant. We scored a table by the window which was also fantastic, but tight. She's a size 0, I'm decidedly not, and even she had to squeeze into her seat. In terms of table size, if I extended my arms in front of me, I could have hugged her. Hence the waiter needing to negotiate my chest as he brought my dinner.
"Oh my God," Chrissy hooted. "Now he can't help but look!"
Chrissy became a very fast friend in 2001. She started work at our place of employment just a couple of short weeks before me and, as with most "classmates" at work, we became close despite some major differences. Chrissy is thin and petite. I am taller and curvier. She's brunette, I'm blonde (ish). She's from New York; I'm from New England. She's hot. I'm "grandma pretty" (see my friend Meg for a definition). Chrissy is an aggressor; I tend to watch from the sidelines. Chrissy is a shopaholic who returns everything she buys. I am a shopaholic who buys things that don't fit but is too lazy to return them and just increases her credit card debt whilst looking ridiculous.
Yes, we couldn't be more different in a lot of respects. But we get along famously.
Chrissy is also incredibly smart and is one of my favorite friend stories. She's completely self-made and has enjoyed tremendous success due to a lot of hard work and determination. As I enjoyed the view from her 41st floor apartment near Wall Street tonight, I marveled at what she has achieved.
I am incredibly proud of my girlfriends. Those of us who are unmarried, without kids and currently falling victim to the puzzled looks our married peers with children are left at times to feel as if we've made a dreadful sacrifice. "We're getting old," Chrissy lamented tonight. But I'm just in awe of the incredible women in my life who are really lighting the world on fire, even though they may not realize it, professionally. We're kind of a stellar group, if you don't mind me saying.
She also has a wonderful boyfriend who I like more with every encounter. Of course, what I like most about him, in addition to the fact that he's friendly, hugs me back when I greet him and actually converses with me, is that he basically worships the ground she walks on. But not in a creepy way. The simple fact of the matter is he adores her and respects her, and loves taking care of her. I loved watching them interact. And I loved, really loved, seeing her so completely happy.
There's no greater gift than seeing those you care about reach those moments in life when they can't help but smile. Particularly because I couldn't help but smile in return.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
On the early bird getting the worm...
I've had what I like to refer to as a Kelly day today. Kelly is a former roommate of mine, a still dear friend and a loyal reader of this blog. When Kelly and I lived together, I would wake up on a Saturday morning, move my tired rear from my bed to the couch, watch an unacceptable amount of I Love the 80's on VH1 and maybe, just maybe, get in the shower by 11:30.
If in the right mood, Kelly would have been to the grocery store and back, TJ Maxx and back and maybe even taken the bus to Marshalls and back, after waxing the kitchen floor and cooking breakfast for everyone.
While I still have more domestic goals for the day, I got out of bed at 8, made my way to Target, the grocery store (the one I REALLY love to go to but is a bit far out of the way) and made a stop at Dunkin Donuts for the ride home. Got home, put groceries away, cleaned up the kitchen, showered, had breakfast, took out the trash, cleaned out the fridge, addressed a clog in the shower and made the place look pseudo presentable for my guy's return tonight. And it's only 11:30. If I wanted to be REALLY amazing, I'd do the pile of laundry currently awaiting my attention, but the fact of the matter is we've entered the danger zone time in the laundry room. There's probably already a line waiting for the washers.
As much as I long to be one of those people who can sleep until 10 or 11 every weekend morning, there's something so wonderful about being awake and in motion while the rest of the world slumbers. If only this would inspire me to get up and exercise in the morning. Ha. Not a chance. But how wonderful when there is no traffic, the sun has just finished rising with still a hint of orange in sky, no lines, and you have every excuse to wear your hair back in a baseball cap and no makeup applied. Without judgement. There's also a great sense of satisfaction in building up justification for a long afternoon nap.
After all, I have a game 7 to be alert for tonight. Go Sox!
If in the right mood, Kelly would have been to the grocery store and back, TJ Maxx and back and maybe even taken the bus to Marshalls and back, after waxing the kitchen floor and cooking breakfast for everyone.
While I still have more domestic goals for the day, I got out of bed at 8, made my way to Target, the grocery store (the one I REALLY love to go to but is a bit far out of the way) and made a stop at Dunkin Donuts for the ride home. Got home, put groceries away, cleaned up the kitchen, showered, had breakfast, took out the trash, cleaned out the fridge, addressed a clog in the shower and made the place look pseudo presentable for my guy's return tonight. And it's only 11:30. If I wanted to be REALLY amazing, I'd do the pile of laundry currently awaiting my attention, but the fact of the matter is we've entered the danger zone time in the laundry room. There's probably already a line waiting for the washers.
As much as I long to be one of those people who can sleep until 10 or 11 every weekend morning, there's something so wonderful about being awake and in motion while the rest of the world slumbers. If only this would inspire me to get up and exercise in the morning. Ha. Not a chance. But how wonderful when there is no traffic, the sun has just finished rising with still a hint of orange in sky, no lines, and you have every excuse to wear your hair back in a baseball cap and no makeup applied. Without judgement. There's also a great sense of satisfaction in building up justification for a long afternoon nap.
After all, I have a game 7 to be alert for tonight. Go Sox!
Friday, October 19, 2007
On a weekend with me...
Thanks to the unforgiving nature of my fall travel recruitment season, tomorrow is my first day off in a month and this is the only weekend I have at home in October. Because higher powers enjoy mocking me, my guy is out of town this weekend attending a conference. While I would like nothing more than to share a weekend with him, I have no issues with my plans for total vegging out and relaxation. Oh, and seeing at least one of my best girlfriends in the process.
As I drove home tonight, exhausted from our full day open house and the energy required to give remarks and be "on" all day, I contemplated my complete lack of desire to prepare dinner. All I could think about was fast food, ice cream and chips and dip. AKA, Celtic Not's Bermuda Triangle of Nutrition. Despite my exhaustion, I made my way to the grocery store to stock up for a weekend of baseball, naps and catching up on DVR.
Standing in the checkout line, I considered my purchases and it made me giggle. Reduced fat potato chips. French Onion Dip. Edy's Slow Churned Reduced Fat Samoas Girl Scout Cookie Ice Cream (cookies AND ice cream together = perfecto!). Rotisserie chicken. (I intend to make three meals out if it). Wine. Coke Zero. Lean Cuisines for next week's lunch.
Am I the portrait of a chick hanging out by herself this weekend or what?
My mood was tired, yet nevertheless indulgent and celebratory. And the good news is I was inspired to at least cook some corn and couscous to compliment the chicken legs I decided on (sitting down with the entire bird and just a fork did cross my mind). Unfortunately, I've already had WAY too much ice cream. It really IS the most delicious ice cream on the face of the earth. But it's all good. I'm enjoying my first Saturday to myself by getting up at 6 am to meet a friend and her daughter for a charity 10K walk where I will walk it all off. And then get right back to where I started with a celebratory lunch of Indian food.
It's only Friday and it's already a truly magnificent weekend.
As I drove home tonight, exhausted from our full day open house and the energy required to give remarks and be "on" all day, I contemplated my complete lack of desire to prepare dinner. All I could think about was fast food, ice cream and chips and dip. AKA, Celtic Not's Bermuda Triangle of Nutrition. Despite my exhaustion, I made my way to the grocery store to stock up for a weekend of baseball, naps and catching up on DVR.
Standing in the checkout line, I considered my purchases and it made me giggle. Reduced fat potato chips. French Onion Dip. Edy's Slow Churned Reduced Fat Samoas Girl Scout Cookie Ice Cream (cookies AND ice cream together = perfecto!). Rotisserie chicken. (I intend to make three meals out if it). Wine. Coke Zero. Lean Cuisines for next week's lunch.
Am I the portrait of a chick hanging out by herself this weekend or what?
My mood was tired, yet nevertheless indulgent and celebratory. And the good news is I was inspired to at least cook some corn and couscous to compliment the chicken legs I decided on (sitting down with the entire bird and just a fork did cross my mind). Unfortunately, I've already had WAY too much ice cream. It really IS the most delicious ice cream on the face of the earth. But it's all good. I'm enjoying my first Saturday to myself by getting up at 6 am to meet a friend and her daughter for a charity 10K walk where I will walk it all off. And then get right back to where I started with a celebratory lunch of Indian food.
It's only Friday and it's already a truly magnificent weekend.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
On the way life should be?
In order for my home state to make the news, Dubbya is typically visiting the Bush compound in Kennebunkport, or a moose has walked through one of the downtowns, providing a nice "aw golly shucks" moment to end your nightly national news programming.
Today, however, is a bit different.
The public school system in Portland, ME has announced they are making a special in-house, school-based, full-service health clinic available to middle school students. In order to participate in this health clinic, the middle schoolers must secure their parents' permission. Once that permission is granted, students may have access to a variety of health services without parent notification.
Including access to birth control pills.
Parents are, of course, livid. Even my own. When I called my dad to celebrate a Red Sox run, it was the first thing he brought up after we moaned about the Sox recent performance for only 2 or 3 minutes.
"If you were in that school, Cris," he said, "we'd be transferring you to another school today."
Of course, 4 of the 100 students in this age range who used this clinic last year reported they were sexually active. But the headline, and the supposed justification for this action, is that 17 girls under the age of 14 became pregnant in the community last year. Of course, that figure nationally is 17,000, but no matter. Parents are outraged by this new service. One parent, a nurse, got up at last night's board meeting and did her best to present the education side of it; how this could increase STDs among the student population. She went on to list about 30, most of which I hadn't heard of, as she made her plea against the plan. The parents resent the board taking over their responsibilities, but the school system feels they are simply doing their part to provide education and access and prevent what they fear is inevitable if they do not do something.
I do not pretend to know what it's like to be a middle school girl anymore. As one who didn't even have her first kiss until the 8th grade, I can tell you sex was hardly on my mind at that age, and I don't remember any of my friends starting to do anything of the sort until our junior year of high school or so. Still, I acknowledge times have changed. I acknowledge that a lot of 12 year old girls look 16 and dress like whorish 19 year olds, primarily because a) they don't know any better and b) they aren't growing up with a father like mine, who would have dragged them by the stiletto heel back into the house never to see the outside world again. Since these girls don't have my dad, the high school boys who hang out around the school are happy to provide an older male figure for them.
I do not subscribe to the notion that access invites participation that would not have been engaged in prior to the fact. But I'm also simply not convinced this is a wise course. I'm just not convinced there's some sexual free love revolution going on in Portland's middle schools that require this type of step.
Nevertheless, I feel sick to my stomach thinking about girls so young becoming sexually active. As parents focus their energy on being outraged at the school board, I hope they'll soon change focus and put that energy towards honest conversations with their children. I do not envy the day I may be put in this same situation, forced to have an awkward and way too grown up conversation years before I ever intended, but I can also say that my parents managed to keep me entirely well behaved with nothing but conversation as to why drinking was a bad idea at the time, as was sex, etc. I was a pretty damn good kid. Pretty unpopular, but a damn good kid. :)
So, I don't offer you a concluding opinion on the issue, other than hoping parents realize they have a major role in guiding their children down a more appropriate path, one that doesn't require them to grow up so fast or sacrifice their all to precious innocence in too hasty a manner.
Today, however, is a bit different.
The public school system in Portland, ME has announced they are making a special in-house, school-based, full-service health clinic available to middle school students. In order to participate in this health clinic, the middle schoolers must secure their parents' permission. Once that permission is granted, students may have access to a variety of health services without parent notification.
Including access to birth control pills.
Parents are, of course, livid. Even my own. When I called my dad to celebrate a Red Sox run, it was the first thing he brought up after we moaned about the Sox recent performance for only 2 or 3 minutes.
"If you were in that school, Cris," he said, "we'd be transferring you to another school today."
Of course, 4 of the 100 students in this age range who used this clinic last year reported they were sexually active. But the headline, and the supposed justification for this action, is that 17 girls under the age of 14 became pregnant in the community last year. Of course, that figure nationally is 17,000, but no matter. Parents are outraged by this new service. One parent, a nurse, got up at last night's board meeting and did her best to present the education side of it; how this could increase STDs among the student population. She went on to list about 30, most of which I hadn't heard of, as she made her plea against the plan. The parents resent the board taking over their responsibilities, but the school system feels they are simply doing their part to provide education and access and prevent what they fear is inevitable if they do not do something.
I do not pretend to know what it's like to be a middle school girl anymore. As one who didn't even have her first kiss until the 8th grade, I can tell you sex was hardly on my mind at that age, and I don't remember any of my friends starting to do anything of the sort until our junior year of high school or so. Still, I acknowledge times have changed. I acknowledge that a lot of 12 year old girls look 16 and dress like whorish 19 year olds, primarily because a) they don't know any better and b) they aren't growing up with a father like mine, who would have dragged them by the stiletto heel back into the house never to see the outside world again. Since these girls don't have my dad, the high school boys who hang out around the school are happy to provide an older male figure for them.
I do not subscribe to the notion that access invites participation that would not have been engaged in prior to the fact. But I'm also simply not convinced this is a wise course. I'm just not convinced there's some sexual free love revolution going on in Portland's middle schools that require this type of step.
Nevertheless, I feel sick to my stomach thinking about girls so young becoming sexually active. As parents focus their energy on being outraged at the school board, I hope they'll soon change focus and put that energy towards honest conversations with their children. I do not envy the day I may be put in this same situation, forced to have an awkward and way too grown up conversation years before I ever intended, but I can also say that my parents managed to keep me entirely well behaved with nothing but conversation as to why drinking was a bad idea at the time, as was sex, etc. I was a pretty damn good kid. Pretty unpopular, but a damn good kid. :)
So, I don't offer you a concluding opinion on the issue, other than hoping parents realize they have a major role in guiding their children down a more appropriate path, one that doesn't require them to grow up so fast or sacrifice their all to precious innocence in too hasty a manner.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
On being in the zone...
Tonight was another event night. This time, Tarrytown, NY, otherwise known as Westchester County. In this part of the world, my "clientele" can be incredibly challenging. I wasn't sure what to expect tonight, and wasn't feeling 100% on top of that, so I quickly went over my notes, suited up and went downstairs.
Tonight's was a fantastic event. I nailed everything I wanted to say. My tone was spot on. My jokes worked. My colleague was on her game too. At the conclusion of the program, parent upon parent, student upon student, came up to compliment us on the program and me on my presentation. We seemed to really pull people in. Those who had already been to campus were officially hooked. Those who had yet to visit campus suddenly couldn't wait to get there.
I'm not naive. I understand that some of this is good manners and the conscious realization that they're supposed to come talk to me and say SOMETHING. Still, the compliments I was receiving on my presentation, my skill, my demeanor, seemed different than usual. One parent said to me, "you must be individually responsible for bringing so many students to your school." Another, "You do a wonderful job. Really. We've had a fantastic time." As I skipped up to my room, I checked my blackberry to read emails from last week's students (yes, those in "no personality" Hartford) thanking me for the presentation and how influential I have been in their decision to apply.
Flattery really will get you everywhere. Particularly with me.
Again, I know some of it I should just take with a grain of salt, but it all means so much to me. It's the validation I need in a time of constant uncertainty and turmoil at work. Though many of the "haters" are gone, there are still some who look at me and wonder why.. why is SHE in the position she's in. What has SHE done to deserve it? It's nights like this that I am able to remind myself that I do have a gift of connection, of making cold and distant things more personable, of fighting off smoke and mirrors and having honest conversations. The very thought that there were 5 or so people tonight who told me I have made an influence (and a positive one!) in their decision making is incredibly meaningful.
For the first time in a 6 year career, I feel like I actually RECRUITED. That I actually spread the message that's been needed to be shared, in a effective manner. It's funny how easy it is to become spoiled. My first job in this field required little of me in terms of relationship building. It was churning out volume, being a road runner and doing as I was told. I was quite good at it, no question. But I couldn't always say I was a good recruiter. And, if I'm being completely honest, I was a bit turned off when I first took this job as to how much outreach we had to do. As with anything else, it's hard to suddenly have to work for something that's always been there for free. But I've finally turned the corner. I feel like I ramped up my game tonight. And it feels amazing.
Tonight's was a fantastic event. I nailed everything I wanted to say. My tone was spot on. My jokes worked. My colleague was on her game too. At the conclusion of the program, parent upon parent, student upon student, came up to compliment us on the program and me on my presentation. We seemed to really pull people in. Those who had already been to campus were officially hooked. Those who had yet to visit campus suddenly couldn't wait to get there.
I'm not naive. I understand that some of this is good manners and the conscious realization that they're supposed to come talk to me and say SOMETHING. Still, the compliments I was receiving on my presentation, my skill, my demeanor, seemed different than usual. One parent said to me, "you must be individually responsible for bringing so many students to your school." Another, "You do a wonderful job. Really. We've had a fantastic time." As I skipped up to my room, I checked my blackberry to read emails from last week's students (yes, those in "no personality" Hartford) thanking me for the presentation and how influential I have been in their decision to apply.
Flattery really will get you everywhere. Particularly with me.
Again, I know some of it I should just take with a grain of salt, but it all means so much to me. It's the validation I need in a time of constant uncertainty and turmoil at work. Though many of the "haters" are gone, there are still some who look at me and wonder why.. why is SHE in the position she's in. What has SHE done to deserve it? It's nights like this that I am able to remind myself that I do have a gift of connection, of making cold and distant things more personable, of fighting off smoke and mirrors and having honest conversations. The very thought that there were 5 or so people tonight who told me I have made an influence (and a positive one!) in their decision making is incredibly meaningful.
For the first time in a 6 year career, I feel like I actually RECRUITED. That I actually spread the message that's been needed to be shared, in a effective manner. It's funny how easy it is to become spoiled. My first job in this field required little of me in terms of relationship building. It was churning out volume, being a road runner and doing as I was told. I was quite good at it, no question. But I couldn't always say I was a good recruiter. And, if I'm being completely honest, I was a bit turned off when I first took this job as to how much outreach we had to do. As with anything else, it's hard to suddenly have to work for something that's always been there for free. But I've finally turned the corner. I feel like I ramped up my game tonight. And it feels amazing.
On my future's so bright...
I have had horrible luck with sunglasses. I've broken 3 pairs since July.
As I put my bags in the car to make my way to Westchester County today, I realized I was missing one thing.
I didn't have a pair of sunglasses.
It wouldn't have been that big of a deal, but it was a very bright day and my eyes are very sensitive to the sun. I'm not a vampire or anything, I just wear contacts and am incredibly susceptible to eye fatigue.
Don't worry, I try not to share this fascinating story on first dates or anything.
I ran around looking for the one non-broken pair I thought I still had, but to no avail. Sunglasses are one of those things I've actually become incredibly cheap about. They break running loose in the gigantic mommy bag you carry for work or you lose them so easily. I watched a woman I was traveling with in Latin America last year spend $200 on a pair of sunglasses she'd been coveting for a year, only to lose them two days later. No thanks.
So I always go cheap when it comes to sunglasses for these very reasons. And, well, because the one time I splurged on sunglasses, this beautiful pair of Serengetti driving lenses, my appendix burst. Yes, the same day. I can't help but think I was being punished for spending $100 on a pair of shades when I could have spent $9.99. And I know I can't burst my appendix again, but, what if something else bursts?
So my trip began with a stop at Target to get a $9.99 pair of driving lenses that looked fun on me as I left the store but, a four hour drive later, just look stupid. Oh well, at least I didn't spend $100 on them. Or lose an appendix in the process.
As I put my bags in the car to make my way to Westchester County today, I realized I was missing one thing.
I didn't have a pair of sunglasses.
It wouldn't have been that big of a deal, but it was a very bright day and my eyes are very sensitive to the sun. I'm not a vampire or anything, I just wear contacts and am incredibly susceptible to eye fatigue.
Don't worry, I try not to share this fascinating story on first dates or anything.
I ran around looking for the one non-broken pair I thought I still had, but to no avail. Sunglasses are one of those things I've actually become incredibly cheap about. They break running loose in the gigantic mommy bag you carry for work or you lose them so easily. I watched a woman I was traveling with in Latin America last year spend $200 on a pair of sunglasses she'd been coveting for a year, only to lose them two days later. No thanks.
So I always go cheap when it comes to sunglasses for these very reasons. And, well, because the one time I splurged on sunglasses, this beautiful pair of Serengetti driving lenses, my appendix burst. Yes, the same day. I can't help but think I was being punished for spending $100 on a pair of shades when I could have spent $9.99. And I know I can't burst my appendix again, but, what if something else bursts?
So my trip began with a stop at Target to get a $9.99 pair of driving lenses that looked fun on me as I left the store but, a four hour drive later, just look stupid. Oh well, at least I didn't spend $100 on them. Or lose an appendix in the process.
On appreciating "up"...
Yesterday was Boss Appreciation Day. Yah, I didn't realize that either. Until one of my friends on staff, someone who I "kind of" supervise, showed up at my door with a Starbucks card and said "Thanks for all you do for us!".
You know me. Between that and PMSing, I came THIS close to tearing up.
It was such a thoughtful gesture. And, thanks to her kindness, I was able to fuel up for my drive to Tarrytown today with a vendi Pumpkin Spice Latte and a chocolate chip scone (Um, they have caramel inside. Go get one. Immediately.) Receiving that card made my day.
And it got me thinking. I was warned by two colleagues that the assistant I inherited in my acting role would essentially cast a spell on me and my loved ones if I forgot Administrative Assistant Day. So I took her out to lunch and we had a lovely time. And it really was my pleasure to do so. I just think it's funny how clearly she had no idea what yesterday was and, if she did, did nothing in recognition of it. Honestly, I would never have expected her to and I absolutely believe the world would be a better place without Boss' Day, Admin. Asst. Day, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Valentine's Day, etc. Isn't it better to receive a card or flowers or a small gift, "just because"? Isn't it better to say "thank you", "you're wonderful", "I'm so lucky" or "I appreciate you" on a random day? But no, if you receive something like chocolates, clearly it's in recognition of a special occasion. And even those of us who would prefer flowers out of nowhere have that feeling of pressure on days like Valentine's Day because, despite your philosophy, if you don't get something, the absence is that much more glaring. Sigh.
Maybe I'll look up some spells to cast after all.
You know me. Between that and PMSing, I came THIS close to tearing up.
It was such a thoughtful gesture. And, thanks to her kindness, I was able to fuel up for my drive to Tarrytown today with a vendi Pumpkin Spice Latte and a chocolate chip scone (Um, they have caramel inside. Go get one. Immediately.) Receiving that card made my day.
And it got me thinking. I was warned by two colleagues that the assistant I inherited in my acting role would essentially cast a spell on me and my loved ones if I forgot Administrative Assistant Day. So I took her out to lunch and we had a lovely time. And it really was my pleasure to do so. I just think it's funny how clearly she had no idea what yesterday was and, if she did, did nothing in recognition of it. Honestly, I would never have expected her to and I absolutely believe the world would be a better place without Boss' Day, Admin. Asst. Day, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Valentine's Day, etc. Isn't it better to receive a card or flowers or a small gift, "just because"? Isn't it better to say "thank you", "you're wonderful", "I'm so lucky" or "I appreciate you" on a random day? But no, if you receive something like chocolates, clearly it's in recognition of a special occasion. And even those of us who would prefer flowers out of nowhere have that feeling of pressure on days like Valentine's Day because, despite your philosophy, if you don't get something, the absence is that much more glaring. Sigh.
Maybe I'll look up some spells to cast after all.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
On you ain't seen bumpy yet...
Fasten your seat belts everyone. It officially sucks to travel.
I travel my fair share for work, as those of you most loyal to this blog know. As such, I've become intimately acquainted with the challenges of throwing yourself to the mercy of airlines, rental car companies and hotels. Often it seems like it's just not about service anymore. Rarely do you encounter the "customer service agent" who acts in a manner supportive of the possibility that you may have sat through a 2 hour delay at the airport, only to be bumped off of your flight, only to sit next to a disgruntled and overweight passenger taking up half of your seat on the next flight, and oops we don't have any more room on the plane for your baggage so we'll have to check it, and no there won't be beverage service because of the constant turbulence. Oh, and sorry about that, but we lost that bag we ended up having to check. Have a good day.
Don't get me wrong, very little of this happened to me this evening, only part of it, but I often feel beaten and bruised on my travel days as I watch it happen to those around me. While much of this probably can't be helped given the very real circumstances associated with the travel industry today, I think everything could be a bit improved if everyone would just try to help each other out.
And I'm not just speaking of the flight attendants I really don't know how they do their job every day. Every flight brings some issue, at least one pain in the ass traveler who can't understand that everyone gets inconvenienced once in a while.
Passengers just don't play fair anymore, and are doing their part to contribute to the overall horrible experience of travel today. Take my flight this evening... the oversold flight. The initial announcement puts everyone on edge. Oh no. Am I going to be bumped? They need five volunteers. Have five people gone up yet?
Because of my preference for aisle seats, I always end up boarding in one of the later zones. And, on an oversold flight, in that situation you are essentially guaranteed that there will be no room left for your bag when you board. I like to think of myself as a conscientious traveler. Any bag I bring on board is, in fact, carry on size and, when given a seat with normal room in front of it, I can typically fit BOTH of my carry-ons in front of my feet. Suck on that.
But not today.
And as I boarded the flight and looked down toward my seat, I saw a decidedly not carry-on sized bag occupying my seat. Hmmm.
The couple next to me had no place to put their over sized carry-on baggage. For shame. Seriously, I do feel their pain. But, at the same time, they should have been more responsible and checked them in the first place. Instead, they were incredibly rude to the flight crew, how it was somehow THEIR fault and what were they going to do about it. The crew then proceeded to hold up take off while they moved other people's bags around trying to find place to stow them. A similar incident happened on my flight up to Hartford, but I was a hell of a lot more impressed with how the crew handled that. After a certain point, everyone boarding the flight was handed a check tag for their baggage, as there was, in fact, no room left. Sure, people were pissed but, at the same time, they didn't have to go through the humiliation of making their way up and down the aisle desperately looking for a place to put their gigantic carry-on. I do wish airlines would do their part in enforcing carry-on policies, but I also wish travelers would be a little more considerate of their fellow passengers as they weigh their options.
Then there were the children. Nothing can be done about crying children and I was very impressed that the three babies on the flight tonight were almost totally silent It was the two year old whose mother was encouraging her to beat on the seat in front of her that nearly set me off. No, I'm not kidding.
I just wish we could all cut each other a little bit of slack. I keep hearing about these days when travel was a luxurious experience and service was guaranteed. These are different times now, certainly, but I really am convinced that if we didn't chew each other out at the first inconvenience, if we could just laugh things off from time to time and give each other the benefit of the doubt, a return to a more pleasant travel experience could be on the horizon
I travel my fair share for work, as those of you most loyal to this blog know. As such, I've become intimately acquainted with the challenges of throwing yourself to the mercy of airlines, rental car companies and hotels. Often it seems like it's just not about service anymore. Rarely do you encounter the "customer service agent" who acts in a manner supportive of the possibility that you may have sat through a 2 hour delay at the airport, only to be bumped off of your flight, only to sit next to a disgruntled and overweight passenger taking up half of your seat on the next flight, and oops we don't have any more room on the plane for your baggage so we'll have to check it, and no there won't be beverage service because of the constant turbulence. Oh, and sorry about that, but we lost that bag we ended up having to check. Have a good day.
Don't get me wrong, very little of this happened to me this evening, only part of it, but I often feel beaten and bruised on my travel days as I watch it happen to those around me. While much of this probably can't be helped given the very real circumstances associated with the travel industry today, I think everything could be a bit improved if everyone would just try to help each other out.
And I'm not just speaking of the flight attendants I really don't know how they do their job every day. Every flight brings some issue, at least one pain in the ass traveler who can't understand that everyone gets inconvenienced once in a while.
Passengers just don't play fair anymore, and are doing their part to contribute to the overall horrible experience of travel today. Take my flight this evening... the oversold flight. The initial announcement puts everyone on edge. Oh no. Am I going to be bumped? They need five volunteers. Have five people gone up yet?
Because of my preference for aisle seats, I always end up boarding in one of the later zones. And, on an oversold flight, in that situation you are essentially guaranteed that there will be no room left for your bag when you board. I like to think of myself as a conscientious traveler. Any bag I bring on board is, in fact, carry on size and, when given a seat with normal room in front of it, I can typically fit BOTH of my carry-ons in front of my feet. Suck on that.
But not today.
And as I boarded the flight and looked down toward my seat, I saw a decidedly not carry-on sized bag occupying my seat. Hmmm.
The couple next to me had no place to put their over sized carry-on baggage. For shame. Seriously, I do feel their pain. But, at the same time, they should have been more responsible and checked them in the first place. Instead, they were incredibly rude to the flight crew, how it was somehow THEIR fault and what were they going to do about it. The crew then proceeded to hold up take off while they moved other people's bags around trying to find place to stow them. A similar incident happened on my flight up to Hartford, but I was a hell of a lot more impressed with how the crew handled that. After a certain point, everyone boarding the flight was handed a check tag for their baggage, as there was, in fact, no room left. Sure, people were pissed but, at the same time, they didn't have to go through the humiliation of making their way up and down the aisle desperately looking for a place to put their gigantic carry-on. I do wish airlines would do their part in enforcing carry-on policies, but I also wish travelers would be a little more considerate of their fellow passengers as they weigh their options.
Then there were the children. Nothing can be done about crying children and I was very impressed that the three babies on the flight tonight were almost totally silent It was the two year old whose mother was encouraging her to beat on the seat in front of her that nearly set me off. No, I'm not kidding.
I just wish we could all cut each other a little bit of slack. I keep hearing about these days when travel was a luxurious experience and service was guaranteed. These are different times now, certainly, but I really am convinced that if we didn't chew each other out at the first inconvenience, if we could just laugh things off from time to time and give each other the benefit of the doubt, a return to a more pleasant travel experience could be on the horizon
On doing time at Bradley...
Greetings from Bradley International. If you've been following my blog over the past few days, you've learned it's one of my least favorite airports ever. Well, at least the US Air terminal. In all fairness, as I arrived today I glanced at the other terminal and it looks like it may carry some potential. But not this end. I've just downed two of the worst pieces of pizza of my existence from a pizza and sub place where the pizza slicer was CHAINED to the counter. What kind of place is this? Is pizza cutter theft a major issue here? Is it a safety concern or is it just the employees needing something to cut the real pizza they order at home after a day's work surrounded by imitation pie? The world may never know.
So, 2 hours to go before my flight and here I am. There's a bar down the way showing the Patriots game on a static-filled 19" tv, but said bar is the same establishment that owns the pizza that will likely give me heartburn in time for takeoff. What's odd is there are two guys at the bar wearing Pats jersey, like a couple of locals who have shown up to their favorite sports bar . Too weird.
My event went ok today. The trouble is that our Boston event was DYN-O-MITE and incapable of having an equal. I knew this event would be smaller, but it didn't necessarily have to indicate duller. A small group of the right kind of people, after all, is always better than a large group of the wrong.
Sigh. Sadly, we had a small group where the wrong outnumbered the right.
It's odd to consider how, in my job, I have learned a true appreciation for what stand-up comics do. Confused? Let me explain. Much of what we do at these events and the sessions we give on campus consists of a one hour PowerPoint presentation. I know. Aren't you on the edge of your seat?
So, because we're only human, we try to throw in jokes here and there, mix it up a bit, and keep those in the crowd alert and ok about sacrificing a couple of hours of their life to our purpose. And when it goes well, it goes REALLY well. In Boston last week you would have thought I was Elvis. People laughed when I wanted them to, they participated when I "turned the mic their way" and there was a line of adoring fans waiting to meet me and my colleague at the end.
In Connecticut? Not so much.
Now, there was certainly more energy to feed off of in Boston, but, the major difference I'm pointing out here is audience and geography's role in it. They laugh in Boston, they press in Connecticut. At my old institution, we would do two events back to back, one in Tysons Corner, VA, the other in Bethesda, MD. In Virginia, they would smile and laugh. In Maryland, they would display little to no personality and not respond to any of the same attempts at humor. Period. And we're talking a difference of about 11 miles. What gives?
So I don't understand how stand-ups do it. How they move from crowd to crowd with the same material over and over and over again, and have it kill in some areas and fall completely flat in others. I know I've written in the past about loathing the DC concert scene because NO ONE gets into it. People must dread coming to the DC area, period.
So, I'm feeling less confident about our event, even though there wasn't really any difference in how we presented the information or anything like that. My event on Wednesday should be much the same, in Westchester County, but I'll hope for more signs of life when I hit Portland, Oregon and Chicago next month.
Or maybe I just need to change my approach. Know the places that will get the humor and use it to my favor, and play up the seriousness for the other places. It just seems like such a shame though. I work in an industry where so many students feel so stressed out and confused. One of things things I think I offer my field is a lighter, more realistic approach that, I hope, calms people down a bit and educates them. Who knew one might prefer the smoke and mirrors?
So, 2 hours to go before my flight and here I am. There's a bar down the way showing the Patriots game on a static-filled 19" tv, but said bar is the same establishment that owns the pizza that will likely give me heartburn in time for takeoff. What's odd is there are two guys at the bar wearing Pats jersey, like a couple of locals who have shown up to their favorite sports bar . Too weird.
My event went ok today. The trouble is that our Boston event was DYN-O-MITE and incapable of having an equal. I knew this event would be smaller, but it didn't necessarily have to indicate duller. A small group of the right kind of people, after all, is always better than a large group of the wrong.
Sigh. Sadly, we had a small group where the wrong outnumbered the right.
It's odd to consider how, in my job, I have learned a true appreciation for what stand-up comics do. Confused? Let me explain. Much of what we do at these events and the sessions we give on campus consists of a one hour PowerPoint presentation. I know. Aren't you on the edge of your seat?
So, because we're only human, we try to throw in jokes here and there, mix it up a bit, and keep those in the crowd alert and ok about sacrificing a couple of hours of their life to our purpose. And when it goes well, it goes REALLY well. In Boston last week you would have thought I was Elvis. People laughed when I wanted them to, they participated when I "turned the mic their way" and there was a line of adoring fans waiting to meet me and my colleague at the end.
In Connecticut? Not so much.
Now, there was certainly more energy to feed off of in Boston, but, the major difference I'm pointing out here is audience and geography's role in it. They laugh in Boston, they press in Connecticut. At my old institution, we would do two events back to back, one in Tysons Corner, VA, the other in Bethesda, MD. In Virginia, they would smile and laugh. In Maryland, they would display little to no personality and not respond to any of the same attempts at humor. Period. And we're talking a difference of about 11 miles. What gives?
So I don't understand how stand-ups do it. How they move from crowd to crowd with the same material over and over and over again, and have it kill in some areas and fall completely flat in others. I know I've written in the past about loathing the DC concert scene because NO ONE gets into it. People must dread coming to the DC area, period.
So, I'm feeling less confident about our event, even though there wasn't really any difference in how we presented the information or anything like that. My event on Wednesday should be much the same, in Westchester County, but I'll hope for more signs of life when I hit Portland, Oregon and Chicago next month.
Or maybe I just need to change my approach. Know the places that will get the humor and use it to my favor, and play up the seriousness for the other places. It just seems like such a shame though. I work in an industry where so many students feel so stressed out and confused. One of things things I think I offer my field is a lighter, more realistic approach that, I hope, calms people down a bit and educates them. Who knew one might prefer the smoke and mirrors?
On let's be clear about one thing...
I am not at all excited about the Sex and the City movie.
Don't get me wrong, I will likely end up going with a group of women (to be named later) and we'll probably do something predictable like go out for cosmos before or after the fact. I vote before in order to a) make the movie funnier than it actually is or b) allow me an excuse to sleep through it.
I was completely devoted to the show during its run, but I think for the social benefits outside of the episodes. More often than not, watching the show meant Kelly, Chrissy and I put on pajamas and busted open a bottle of wine... or three. Or, at work the next day, discussing the show gave an excuse to go to Starbucks and get a morning coffee. I never fully related to these women. How could I possibly? I'm not a trust fund baby, I'm not a gold digging whore, I'm not THAT bitchy, and I'm not a chain smoker with a fetish for $500 shoes. I also don't have any friends who meet this description.
So, as all this press floats around about the anticipation for this movie, my prediction is it won't do well at all. Only SJP has had any element of success in staying truly relevant, and she's done so outside the world of entertainment, opting for perfume and clothing lines instead. I think it's been too long since the show ended for anyone to really care anymore. I'm fully prepared to be proven wrong, but I think the typical SATC audience can agree that if this group of women is STILL meeting at coffee shops and overpriced restaurants to discuss Samantha's sexual escapades and how her AARP dues have gone up, the ladies have simply gone from chic to sad.
Don't get me wrong, I will likely end up going with a group of women (to be named later) and we'll probably do something predictable like go out for cosmos before or after the fact. I vote before in order to a) make the movie funnier than it actually is or b) allow me an excuse to sleep through it.
I was completely devoted to the show during its run, but I think for the social benefits outside of the episodes. More often than not, watching the show meant Kelly, Chrissy and I put on pajamas and busted open a bottle of wine... or three. Or, at work the next day, discussing the show gave an excuse to go to Starbucks and get a morning coffee. I never fully related to these women. How could I possibly? I'm not a trust fund baby, I'm not a gold digging whore, I'm not THAT bitchy, and I'm not a chain smoker with a fetish for $500 shoes. I also don't have any friends who meet this description.
So, as all this press floats around about the anticipation for this movie, my prediction is it won't do well at all. Only SJP has had any element of success in staying truly relevant, and she's done so outside the world of entertainment, opting for perfume and clothing lines instead. I think it's been too long since the show ended for anyone to really care anymore. I'm fully prepared to be proven wrong, but I think the typical SATC audience can agree that if this group of women is STILL meeting at coffee shops and overpriced restaurants to discuss Samantha's sexual escapades and how her AARP dues have gone up, the ladies have simply gone from chic to sad.
Saturday, October 13, 2007
On the Sox game so far...
So how do we think Bruce Springsteen feels about his "Radio Nowhere" video being used to hype up the Sox-Indians game. I heart him, but I'm sure confused. Maybe he thinks it's clever since Buck-McCarver commentary is, in fact, akin to a drone bouncing off a satellite.
I'm also embarrassed by James Taylor's introduction of the Sox lineup. Have you ever actually watched a game, JT? Writing a song about one doesn't count. I've seen fire and I've seen rain but that was bloody awful.
I'm also embarrassed by James Taylor's introduction of the Sox lineup. Have you ever actually watched a game, JT? Writing a song about one doesn't count. I've seen fire and I've seen rain but that was bloody awful.
On never really leaving home..
It is SO good to be back in New England. And that's saying something given I'm in... Connecticut. Ewwww...
My disdain for Connecticut has never been fair and has really only lent itself to the area known as Fairfield County, aka NYC's Red Headed Stepchild. The rest of Connecticut really is New England and wraps around me like a warm blanket. I spent much of the last 24 hours in and around Mystic, CT, a town that reminds me of why I am so incredibly proud to be from where I am.
I realized this morning I am a child of the sea. Sawing that mer-tail off was quite a bitch. In all seriousness, I am never more comfortable than when the ocean is a feature of the landscape. It's what I grew up with. It's all I know. And I am forever enamoured of towns and cities that live by the work the sea provides them. There's something in the smell of the air, the gray of the buildings, the salty and sweet combination of the people that make me long to return and be native to it once more.
As I chatted up old friends over beers last night, we griped over the difficulty of finding people "like us". Sounds so elitist, doesn't it? But it's hard to sway from that New England character and understand those "from away". We're hearty. It's the best word I can think of. We're also direct, but loyal and wanting everyone to feel at home. We can be overbearing, certainly, and we're always a bit suspect of those "from away", but we're still kind and willing to give the benefit of the doubt. We are curious, particularly about why you're not curious. Indeed, we can't understand why others won't make an effort.
On the ladies, we're either totally raw and all out there, or seemingly sophisticated but actually quite salty underneath. I put my friend Meg and I in this second category. She pulls off the sophisticated a lot better than I do, must be those days at Choate, but even I can sport pearls with the best of them when duty calls and earn some buy in. Still, wearing said pearls, we can discuss bodily functions with no shame and guffaws all around. And the biggest of female Sox fans can beat any male fan of any other team at trivia any day of the week and twice on Sunday. (No, as much as I love the Sox, I've sat in front of these women at games and can only promise novice ability compared to the geyser of information they hold within.)
When we were in Boston last week, my colleague kept begging me to fall into my accent. I don't so much adopt the accent when I'm back home, but I do adopt the dialect. As I greet students interviewing with me, I ask if they'd like "mum and dad to join us or should we check in with them later." Talk of dinner turns to talk of supper. I enjoy training newcomers that Peabody is actually pronounced "Peebiddy", Worcester is "Wusster" (totally intentional), Waltham is "Wallthamm", etc. And nobody appreciates a girl who can pronounce the Native American rivers, counties, mountain ranges quite like a New England girl. Piscatiqua, anyone?
I am sentimental. I am sad. I love this place so much. Any toughness I have, and I promise it's there, comes from the cold winters and working class values of this place. Any sensitivity and kindness I own was taught to me by parents and teachers, certainly, but also the grocery store cashier, bank tellers and shopkeepers.
Oh snap out of it. Talk to me after the holidays and the bold truth of a December morning has hit me smack in the face. Then I'll be longing for my sweet home Virginia all over again.
Friday, October 12, 2007
On the "what the hell!" approach to medicine
I'm getting ready to leave for my day of visits and The Today Show is on in the background. As I emerged from the bathroom, a new allergy medication was being advertised on TV. These are always the best commercials. They make me think of the Saturday Night Live skit on a particular new prescription medicine. "Side effects include nausea, heart disease, acne, children born with golden retriever heads..." I think you get my point.
This commercial proclaimed one stop shopping for all allergy relief. And the fine print at the bottom?
"It is not fully understood how Vetracastlegrayskullgra works."
Buh? So, docs are just messing around in the lab and they unlock this miracle medicine, but can't figure out HOW or WHY it works the way it does? Is this alarming to anyone else? Hmm.. Guess that means they don't fully understand the potential side effects either, huh? So, although they may have since determined children may be born with golden retriever heads, no one will know what to say when they're born with the tail of a pig as well. Awesome.
This commercial proclaimed one stop shopping for all allergy relief. And the fine print at the bottom?
"It is not fully understood how Vetracastlegrayskullgra works."
Buh? So, docs are just messing around in the lab and they unlock this miracle medicine, but can't figure out HOW or WHY it works the way it does? Is this alarming to anyone else? Hmm.. Guess that means they don't fully understand the potential side effects either, huh? So, although they may have since determined children may be born with golden retriever heads, no one will know what to say when they're born with the tail of a pig as well. Awesome.
On your seat being used as a floatation device
It's 5:40 in the morning. About an hour ago I woke up from my second incredibly upsetting dream of the week. I don't call them nightmares. I equate those with gun chases, monsters and ghosts, for whatever reason. No, these were steeped in some form of reality, some form of "this COULD happen". Both have left me waking up at 4:30 with no hope for a return to my slumber.
As such, I'll write the blog I was writing in my head as last night's plane ride to Hartford left my heart racing.
I feel it is our responsibility as good citizens of the world to share our terrifying plane stories. This may not make a ton of sense at first thought, but my point is we need to share these stories to assure each other, when faced with a similar plane ride, that it's going to be ok and you're going to make it just fine, despite what it feels and sounds like. Since I've developed a bit of an inexplicable fear of flying over the last 5 years or so, this type of reassurance is vital to me.
So, the next time you are on a plane and it is shaking left and right, bouncing up and down in dramatic fashion, making scary noses similar to those heard in movies depicting planes caught in nose dives, and you look to your right and see lightening out of your window, it's all good. You're going to be just fine. Really. And I was pretty much convinced I was going to be ok thanks to the assurances of other former travelers who have been good enough to share their horror stories. Like Esme, whose plane was struck by lightening and ended up pointed sharply downward, after the lights went out, after the direct hit. She is one of two people I know whose planes were struck by lightening. They were fine. It was peachy. Kind of. So, I made it here in once piece, got my rental car (a scandalous make and model in my household - sigh), drove to Rocky Hill in a downpour and emerged from the car in an even worse downpour. It was only after I had made it 3/4 of the way to the hotel door that I realized I had a rain jacket in my suitcase and an umbrella in my other bag. Laziness gets you nowhere. My sweater is still wet 8 hours later.
Which leads me to share that yes, I'm in Hartford, the insurance capital of the world! This trip will be much less intense than my last, and I'm a bit embarrassed by its self-indulgence. Today, for my ridiculously late first appointment (the one for which I could sleep in another 2 hours if my mind would let me), I'll be visiting the school where one of my very best friends directs the college counseling program. I'll do my best to get through the visit without us giggling and making personal jokes the entire time. After that, I head to another school, after which point my day is over (absurdly easy) and I will head down to see my very good friend again, and we will likely be joined by another good friend this evening. Tomorrow's appointments rest at 3 versus the 6 I had last week, and then it's our event on Sunday. I return to DC at a horribly late hour on Sunday night, leaving me about 3 hours to pass the time in one of America's worst airports, Bradley. Seriously. It makes the Portland International Jetport in Maine look like Heathrow. There is NOTHING to do, nothing to eat and no comfortable place to sit, period.
The good news about this trip is that the weather has forced me to bring things like sweaters and fleece jackets. I couldn't be happier about that. I am still a New England girl at heart and there's nothing like a crisp fall day to me. Even DC's sub-70 degree day yesterday had me giddy. Hot weather just isn't my thing.
On that note, perhaps I'll crawl back into bed and cuddle back into my fort of pillows. Sorry, it's what I do in hotels. You never know when you'll have to defend yourself against unsettling dreams.
As such, I'll write the blog I was writing in my head as last night's plane ride to Hartford left my heart racing.
I feel it is our responsibility as good citizens of the world to share our terrifying plane stories. This may not make a ton of sense at first thought, but my point is we need to share these stories to assure each other, when faced with a similar plane ride, that it's going to be ok and you're going to make it just fine, despite what it feels and sounds like. Since I've developed a bit of an inexplicable fear of flying over the last 5 years or so, this type of reassurance is vital to me.
So, the next time you are on a plane and it is shaking left and right, bouncing up and down in dramatic fashion, making scary noses similar to those heard in movies depicting planes caught in nose dives, and you look to your right and see lightening out of your window, it's all good. You're going to be just fine. Really. And I was pretty much convinced I was going to be ok thanks to the assurances of other former travelers who have been good enough to share their horror stories. Like Esme, whose plane was struck by lightening and ended up pointed sharply downward, after the lights went out, after the direct hit. She is one of two people I know whose planes were struck by lightening. They were fine. It was peachy. Kind of. So, I made it here in once piece, got my rental car (a scandalous make and model in my household - sigh), drove to Rocky Hill in a downpour and emerged from the car in an even worse downpour. It was only after I had made it 3/4 of the way to the hotel door that I realized I had a rain jacket in my suitcase and an umbrella in my other bag. Laziness gets you nowhere. My sweater is still wet 8 hours later.
Which leads me to share that yes, I'm in Hartford, the insurance capital of the world! This trip will be much less intense than my last, and I'm a bit embarrassed by its self-indulgence. Today, for my ridiculously late first appointment (the one for which I could sleep in another 2 hours if my mind would let me), I'll be visiting the school where one of my very best friends directs the college counseling program. I'll do my best to get through the visit without us giggling and making personal jokes the entire time. After that, I head to another school, after which point my day is over (absurdly easy) and I will head down to see my very good friend again, and we will likely be joined by another good friend this evening. Tomorrow's appointments rest at 3 versus the 6 I had last week, and then it's our event on Sunday. I return to DC at a horribly late hour on Sunday night, leaving me about 3 hours to pass the time in one of America's worst airports, Bradley. Seriously. It makes the Portland International Jetport in Maine look like Heathrow. There is NOTHING to do, nothing to eat and no comfortable place to sit, period.
The good news about this trip is that the weather has forced me to bring things like sweaters and fleece jackets. I couldn't be happier about that. I am still a New England girl at heart and there's nothing like a crisp fall day to me. Even DC's sub-70 degree day yesterday had me giddy. Hot weather just isn't my thing.
On that note, perhaps I'll crawl back into bed and cuddle back into my fort of pillows. Sorry, it's what I do in hotels. You never know when you'll have to defend yourself against unsettling dreams.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
On nobody knowing my sorrows
For the first time since July, my e-mail inbox at work has NO unread messages. NO ONE understands this victory. Well, my boss might, but I can't tell her b/c she averages over 200 unread messages at anytime.
This won't last long, but let's all take a moment to say, "aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh".
YIPPIE!
This won't last long, but let's all take a moment to say, "aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh".
YIPPIE!
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
On the tortoise and the hare
One of my married friends from high school just sent out a mass e-mail announcing she is 11 weeks pregnant. This is the same girl who once told me that the "special song" she and her boyfriend at the time (this was college) shared was "Doin' It" but LL Cool J. She also had sex in the laundry room of her dorm. Wow. Guess we've gotten older and, hopefully, wiser.
Within an hour of receiving that news, another good friend sent an e-mail announcing she'd just gotten a puppy. Of that, I am INSANELY jealous.
Another friend then announced her live-in boyfriend has suddenly decided to go to grad school and she's trying to figure out how to put him on her health insurance. How disgustingly grown up is that? And God bless you, Massachusetts, for allowing domestic partnership benefits for all!
I bought some new makeup yesterday. Somehow it just doesn't feel as exciting or life changing. (It's doing wonders for my under eye circles though!)
It's odd to be at a time in your life when any day can bring such extraordinary news. I'm at that age, certainly, weddings, babies, puppies, houses - I feel like someone is jumping in to one of these scenarios every day. I'm trying my very best not to feel like I've fallen behind. I don't know who I think is watching and judging this supposed contest, and it's not like I haven't experienced some success on my own, it's just different and, well, I'm doing things in reverse order. Job success first, perhaps family, puppies and financial stability later.
Still, I'm not going to lie to you. I'm afraid of waking up one day as a version of a couple of bosses I've had. Bitter, single, overweight, over 40 women who don't know there's more to life than work. I've had two of them and they're out of their respective minds. I know there was a time when they were likely both normal and likable. So, I beg you, blog readers and friends of mine, please continue to monitor me and set me straight on a regular basis. I just don't ever want to lose perspective, and it seems all too easy to do.
Within an hour of receiving that news, another good friend sent an e-mail announcing she'd just gotten a puppy. Of that, I am INSANELY jealous.
Another friend then announced her live-in boyfriend has suddenly decided to go to grad school and she's trying to figure out how to put him on her health insurance. How disgustingly grown up is that? And God bless you, Massachusetts, for allowing domestic partnership benefits for all!
I bought some new makeup yesterday. Somehow it just doesn't feel as exciting or life changing. (It's doing wonders for my under eye circles though!)
It's odd to be at a time in your life when any day can bring such extraordinary news. I'm at that age, certainly, weddings, babies, puppies, houses - I feel like someone is jumping in to one of these scenarios every day. I'm trying my very best not to feel like I've fallen behind. I don't know who I think is watching and judging this supposed contest, and it's not like I haven't experienced some success on my own, it's just different and, well, I'm doing things in reverse order. Job success first, perhaps family, puppies and financial stability later.
Still, I'm not going to lie to you. I'm afraid of waking up one day as a version of a couple of bosses I've had. Bitter, single, overweight, over 40 women who don't know there's more to life than work. I've had two of them and they're out of their respective minds. I know there was a time when they were likely both normal and likable. So, I beg you, blog readers and friends of mine, please continue to monitor me and set me straight on a regular basis. I just don't ever want to lose perspective, and it seems all too easy to do.
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