“Hey, is there a real U.S.S. Defiant*?”
“Sure.”
. . .
“Wait, did you mean somewhere in America’s fleet, or in my collection of little toy spaceships?”
“Uh. America.”
“Oh. Well, probably, then.”
*We just started watching season 5 of Deep Space Nine.
Filed under: A life less ordinary, Boobtubage, Happily ever after | Leave a Comment »
My biggest problem with US news today, as a consumer and as a trained journalist, is how often actual news takes a backseat to the popular news of the day. Right now, this is informing two decisions:
1) I will be skipping the 9/11 retrospectives this week, as much as humanly possible. I deeply respect every individual and family’s experience of that day’s horror and the uncertainty that followed. I do not respect the media’s unconscionable efforts to capitalize on individual loss and collective emotion. That 10 years have passed isn’t news, and I’m actually a little insulted by the insinuation that I might need or want to be reminded of what happened that day…as if I could forget.
The only exception to this is Day of Destruction, Decade of War, the documentary Rachel Maddow and Richard Engel put together on how our nation has changed since that day. (It’s DVR’d — NO SPOILERS! Oh, wait…) This makes the cut because the impact of what we’ve done to US society in the last 10 years will last longer than even the memories we carry with us today. We fundamentally changed our nation after that attack, and we lost more than we knew.
Also? I recognize that people hate Maddow for a whole bunch of reasons, but anyone who says she’s bad at journalism is, to coin the phrase, lying or selling something. She does her homework, she reports with a passion for truth (and justice, for whatever that’s worth these days), and she admits it when she gets it wrong. I realize that I was trained in the old-school style of reporting, right before it all changed, but her work, her talent, and her commitment to facts and analysis are invaluable to me right now.
2) I’m not watching the so-called debates between the Republican candidates…at least not live. The likelihood that one of them will cop to a policy position I could stomach is slim to none…and although such an admission would actually be news, it would also end their candidacy. I’ve done my homework and the posturing they have to do to win over the electorate they’ve groomed makes me physically ill. I’m not thrilled with the current administration, but today’s GOP is — and I cannot stress this strongly enough — too anti-me to accept. No one on their slate of potential POTUSes knows or cares about my interests, to say nothing of protecting or even representing my interests. A vote for any one of them would be a vote against my own rights, my own principles, and my own expectations for the future of this nation.
One candidate will pull ahead, and if it’s anyone other than Huntsman, with whom I still vehemently disagree on many levels, then god help the Grand Old Party. Either way, the primary scuffle for Top Ideologue will be over in February and Allan Lichtman, the Punxsutawney Phil of presidential odds and a prof at my alma mater, has already called this one. I have no reason to think he’s wrong (although I’ll write about it anyway)…but I urge y’all to make him right. This time, we’re not choosing the lesser of two evils — we’re deciding whether we will tread water or drown altogether.
Filed under: Boobtubage, Fourth Estate, Highway or Handbasket?, POTUS | Leave a Comment »
Recently, we finished a monumental effort to steep yours truly in the Buffyverse. (I’ve heard that’s a controversial term, but it’s also awfully compact and convenient.) We’d debated this staggered, two-series marathon for several years – my personal pop culture reference database was woefully bereft when it came to the fictional adventures of vampires and demons, and the slayers thereof, in the late 90s, but it wasn’t a huge priority for me — seven seasons of one series and five of another aren’t, usually. And then I was faced with a voluntary-but-uninterrupted Cosmos marathon and thought to myself, “Self, one can only take so much Carl Sagan before one needs to watch David Boreanaz brood.” (Aside: One of my former colleagues talks exactly like Carl Sagan. But exactly. It must be the Brooklyn thing.)
So we picked sci-fi over science. For MONTHS. And I had nightmares about vampires and demons. For MONTHS.
I’m also all caught up on Whale Wars and we went into the new Torchwood: Miracle Day at full speed. We collapsed our usual pre-new-release Harry Potter marathon, and I finally made Graham watch Bring It On (with the help of a great deal of scotch).
We still have at least one episode of Cosmos left, not because I hate science, but because Carl Sagan’s voice is the world’s best lullaby. Plus? I’m going to watch it again later anyway. It’s brilliant, but it’s going to take time to absorb stuff I was never/badly taught as a kid.
Other than that, though, we’re out of TV to watch and a little TV’d out, if you want to know the truth. Until we sat down after dinner the other night and whined, “There’s nothing to waaatccchhhh.” So we turned on our previously recorded Gang Wars: Oakland, a 2009 series that claimed there are 10,000 gang members walking the streets of Mah New City.
“Great,” Graham said. “Now you’re going to have more nightmares.”
I didn’t have nightmares. I’ve been here for four months and I like it. I’ve lived in and around cities long enough to learn that you do the best you can to stay safe and waste as little time as possible being afraid of your neighbors. People are people, no matter where you go. Pretty much everyone’s doing what they can with what they’ve got, wherever they are.
Gang violence in Oakland is not my nightmare.
You know what is my nightmare? More kids growing up with limited opportunities, truncated education, and fear. Kids who can’t see any way but the one right in front of them. Smart kids who don’t get to learn. Talented kids without an outlet. Parents who think their own experience is the living end. Legislators who care more about being right than being good, or being kind. The “I got mine” mentality informing policies that’ll keep people who ain’t got nothing — and their kids — from ever getting anything…because somewhere along the line the American Dream became a zero-sum game. A government gambling away a future they won’t even see for principles based in pomp and circumstance.
All that? Scares the ever-loving crap out of me. Thugs in my city can put the homocide rate at a record high, but they’ll never hurt as many people as what passes for leadership in Washington right now.
Filed under: A life less ordinary, Boobtubage, NIMBY no more, OAK, POTUS | Leave a Comment »
Prospective client: $400 for a logo?! Why are you so expensive? My nephew has Photoshop—I can just get him to do it.
Me: Does your nephew have Microsoft Word?
Prospective client: Yes.
Me: Then have him write you a novel while he’s at it.
***
Divine Twine, for when your packages need to look like you care.
via How About Orange
***
Molly’s back! Hooray!!!
***
WoW is like Kudzu: Indexed.com
***
Finally — luxury clothing rental for women!
via Unclutterer.com
***
David Tennant is my new TV boyfriend. I’m glad to see more of him than the tongue-sticky-outiness he displayed in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (as Barty Crouch. Jr.)…and I saw a lot of him, because we watched the first three seasons of Doctor Who last week, plus the Season 4 Christmas special and an episode of Torchwood. (Dear Xboxlive: You and Netflix make a lovely couple. I hope you stay together forever.)
via Graham, who likes to watch TV with me
***
That is all. Work’s busy, school’s winding down for the term (and is therefore busy), and I’ve got less than a month to get those holiday plans sorted.
Filed under: A life less ordinary, Boobtubage, Internets | Leave a Comment »
I have always loved Carrie’s relationship with Big.
And oh, it was awful, wasn’t it? All the waiting, and being the other woman, and waiting to find out if she was The One… God, it hurt. It hurt to watch and to see how wonderful they were together and how he was married to women who were so clearly NOT CARRIE. It was terrible.
They were, however, so gloriously, tragically perfect together.
And, in the movie, they admit that they’ve already done everything they can to screw it up — they know that they have always been perfect for each other, but there were things standing between them and forever, things usually within their control. It is finally their chance, and the whole ticket-holding world wants it to be worth the wait.
Still, it’s not as easy as it looks. Even with the Vogue sponsorship, the cash, the airbrushing…
I like to think this is the human condition, but the truth is that I know plenty of couples who figured it out before the ripe old age of 30-whatever. God love them, they knew what they wanted, they recognized it when they found it, and they honored it with a wedding to remember.
I envy those couples, but I love them far more than I envy them. And so I think we’re all still friends.
But the SATC movie is pop culture proof that even the happy ending ain’t the same as the fairy tale. There’s The Dress (oh, God, that DRESS), and the NY Public Library, and the friends standing up with Carrie, willing this to be everything she “deserves” — The Perfect Day.
How could this go wrong?
What do couples fight about? Money, sex, family? These people have it all. They can afford all of this, they make sex for grown-ups look good, and, um…what family? They can do WHATEVER they want.
I cried, when I saw this in the theatre. I cried and cried and cried. And I know why — I knew then. I know what it’s like to know what the right relationship is and do something else. What’s better — and worse — I know what it’s like to have unbelievable friends who stand by you during the right relationship and the Something Else.
(Dear friends: I would take you on my honeymoon, should I be minus a groom. You would be AWESOME in Mexico.)
(And I would laugh at you if you pooped your pants, even in Mexico. Especially in Mexico. But, God, I would love you all the more.)
It is not impossible that this realization is among the many that fed my decision to leave my first marriage.
SATC: The Movie has the best ending — Carrie and Big get married down at City Hall a little after 10 one random morning. Miranda and Steve go to counseling and work it out. Samantha leaves a gorgeous younger man because she needs to be the center of her own life — and he sees it coming and understands. Charlotte remains a marvelous wife and values her unremarkable marriage with bald, Jewish Harry, who is — enviably — hopelessly devoted to her.
None of it is perfect (except for the bankrolls). Even Charlotte, with her “perfect” life, didn’t get it with the “perfect” guy. (The “perfect” guy, if you recall, was her first husband, who had seshual issues…poor lad.) She got it with the sweaty guy who sat naked on her perfectly apolstered setee, but understands and…adores her.
And so, HBO teaches us that “perfect” isn’t always what we expect it to be.
It’s the guy who completes you, but doesn’t fit your mom’s (or friends’) expectations or timeline.
It might also be the guy who fucks up and has a one-night stand because your intimacy is nonexistent.
It’s the friends who stand by you through everything, who trust your judgment, who take the subway in Manhattan on New Year’s Eve so you aren’t alone with Chinese food when the ball drops…or who help you pack for your mom’s funeral.
It’s the career that allows you to support yourself if you need to leave a bad marriage.
It’s forgiveness.
And it’s everlasting faith in love everlasting. That’s all we have, in the end, isn’t it? In the end, all we have is our love for each other, whatever the flavor, strength, or duration. That’s it.
I have to say, I do love the “reception” that follows Carrie and Big’s wedding — Denny’s, maybe, with all the people (and puppies!) who love them most, and just…well, love. In its least glamorous, but truest, form.
Filed under: A life less ordinary, Boobtubage | 4 Comments »
There’s a minor skirmish going around the interwebs about conservative radio talk show host Laura Ingraham’s comments about Meghan McCain’s weight. If you haven’t heard of or about Meghan McCain (and I hadn’t, until last week), she’s John McCain’s daughter and a blogger at the Daily Beast. She cut her teeth blogging on her dad’s campaign.
Last week, I quietly applauded Ms. McCain for (a) having the courage to go on Rachel Maddow’s show (they can’t get many conservatives to come on), (b) being a young Republican in an unfriendly political environment, and (c) approaching politics respectfully and openly. I was completely charmed, especially when Maddow asked her about the bailouts and the economy and she said, roughly, “You know, I really don’t understand all the details. I read a lot and I’m trying to understand economics better, but I try not to comment on things I don’t understand.”
Amen to that. She’s young and she knows she’s still learning, and she’s not afraid to say it.
I also thought, “Aw, she’s beautiful. Also curvy. Oh, damn…I hope no one calls her fat after this interview.”
And so “they” have. She has responded with more grace than I might muster. I hope her comfort in her healthy curves continues.
I have a problem with on so many levels that I’m having a hard time knowing where to start.
First, ad hominem attacks are a waste of airtime. I sincerely believe that the Republicans would have had a better shot in the 2008 election if they’d had a substantive alternative to Obama’s platform. When they (and I mean the pundits as much — or more than — the campaign proper) couldn’t find fault with Obama’s plans, they tried desperately to find fault with his person.
And the few who could find fault couldn’t get the headlines. “OMG HE’S A MUSLIM” pulls more hits, and more hits = more advertising. Hooray!
If Ingraham really believes that Ms. McCain is just “a valley girl gone awry,” why encourage high-school-hallway behavior? Seems counterproductive to me. If you want her to rise to the level of talk radio punditry (har!), engage her in a conversation at that level. If you were watching Maddow’s show, you’d know she’s perfectly capable of it.
Second, a suggestion for the GOP: This is your future. There aren’t a lot of young Republicans out there these days — listen to the ones you have. They are more valuable to you, in the long run, than Limbaugh. Grow in the direction of the younger generation that will carry you forward, or you’ll spend the next election cycle wishing you had.
Second-and-a-half: For crying out loud, people, she’s 24. She’s exploring the world and learning and developing her beliefs. She’s not a threat, unless you’re a washed-up talk radio harpy. She’s not advocating violence or treason (as opposed to Chuck Norris). She’s trying to have a conversation. So let her have it — what are you afraid of? Would you rather be the party of conflict than of curiosity and compromise?
Third, I desperately hope we’re moving toward a society that cares more about health and wellness than sizes and scales. There are “fat” people who run marathons and “skinny” people who sit on the couch and eat Doritos. According American expectations, I’ve been overweight since about the fourth grade. The slimmest I’ve ever been since then was probably The Dumb Year, and I wouldn’t advocate that as a long-term lifestyle (thank god for an early-20s metabolism, am I right?). At my fittest, when I was working out five days a week and getting frequent compliments, I still weighed 175 pounds.
I’m curvy. I will always be curvy. Even at that slimmest point? Still curvy. Genetically, I take after the curvier side of the family…even the skinniest of us still have “child-bearing hips.” When it comes to my overall fat-ness, I try pretty hard to care less about the numbers on a scale than about the following things:
Am I eating when I’m not hungry? Why?
If I am, there’s probably a bigger problem. I’m at my current size (which I like to think of as the far side of voluptuous) because I deliberately gave myself a month-long pass after Mom died in November. Yes, really. Not a pass to stuff my face with every brownie and cookie offered, but a pass on being less mindful about the eating than usual. I figured I had enough to worry about, but was still committed to not sabotaging my own health to deal with the grief.
Do I generally feel healthy? Am I getting sick a lot?
I haven’t gotten legitimately sick in a long time. I’m getting more rest and I’m happier — I haven’t had a proper cold or flu in about a year. I’m able to do the 10-mile training walks at a good clip and carry on a conversation without too much huffing and puffing. Generally, I feel pretty good.
Does the way I look make me feel bad about myself?
Most of the time, I’m pretty confident. I’ve been going through a lot of old photos and getting a little wistful about my fit (though still curvy) 18-year-old self, but I’m much happier working toward a consistent level of health than I am working toward an arbitrary dress size.
Note: Being in love with someone who thinks I’m beautiful inside and out doesn’t hurt, either. I highly recommend it.
So I applaud Ms. McCain’s confidence in her appearance in spite of the criticism, assuming she’s as healthy as she seems to be. I hope we take the lesson to heart instead of continuing the playground Point-at-the-”Fat”-Girl game.
Filed under: Boobtubage, Pop goes the culture, Waist Management | 1 Comment »
It’s not Starbuck. She can’t be a cylon because she had a childhood, and cylons don’t start as or have children.
I am willing to accept that she may be a hybrid. Or that she was altered after her time in captivity. Or that she is somehow the key to bringing the races together.
***
Over the course of G’s visit, we worked our way through two seasons and a couple of episodes from Season 3 of Battlestar Galactica (and the Webisodes).
G brought the first two seasons with him, and then I bought Season 3 in spite of my aversion to creating a duplicate library — I had to know what happened.
I got into it, you might say.
(I recognize that this does not sound romantic for two people who haven’t seen each other in seven months, but this is what we do and it was awesome. We fell in love in front of Red Dwarf and built our relationship during the heyday of Babylon 5. We’re not the dinner-and-a-movie type.)
And now discs 3 and 4 of Season 4 are in my mailbox because Netflix is a dirty whore that just wanted me to sign up for extra services to get disc 2. I have ballet tonight — I do not know how I will make it through all of Season 4 before Season 5 premieres on Friday night.
No, I don’t have a DVR.
Yes, this may be a good reason to get one.
SPOILER ALERT! McFunkinStyle revealed a cylon model to me before she realized I hadn’t gotten that far, so be advised: I talk below about things that have happened up through Season 3. If you are waiting to find out who the last five cylons are and not the last one, stop here. (more…)
Filed under: Boobtubage | 1 Comment »
