Thursday, September 30, 2010
Quote of the Day
"I'm so sorry for the delay, I was munching on a bag of chips and time flies when you're eating chips."
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Oh no they didn't
Sometimes, I like bad TV. Yes, yes, I said it. I like bad TV, the crap kind that rots my brain, whittles away at my self respect and encourages a life of depravity and sin. There's several levels of crappiness and for those days when Jersey Shore is a little too much, but Gilmore Girls isn't? I turn to Say Yes to the Dress. Just in case you have been living under a rock, Say Yes to the Dress capitalizes on the wedding mania that has seemingly gripped the under-40, female portion of the nation. A 'reality' show based in Kleinfelds in NYC, each episode follows several brides while they try to find the wedding dress of their dreams. If there is any show that elevates the Wedding over the Marriage, it is this one.
The triumph of The Wedding over Marriage is nothing new but the glorification of it seems to be reaching a fever pitch. There is a rhetoric that seems to surround weddings lately ( i.e. "MY special day" or the day that "I am a princess") that is lacking in the concept of 'we' that I thought was inherent in matrimony. Please don't get me wrong - I've been to many heartfelt, sincere and beautiful weddings the past few years and I know that the concept of marriage is alive and well. It's just this idea perpetuated by shows such as Say Yes to the Dress in which women, who identify having a more than ample budget of 3 thousand dollars with which to purchase a dress, throw all caution to the wind and spend the equivalent of the down payment for a house instead. All because it is what they want.
My disdain for the ideals being portrayed in this show is hypocritical because it in no way, shape or form dissuades me from watching it. The dresses are beautiful, there's just no way around that. The people range from from blase to dramatic, completely normal to flaming insane. They yell, they cry and then they just start making shit up. It's always a good time, mostly because I can almost always find the entertainment value in the unwarranted tears of the self-absorbed and insane.
While watching Say Yes today I saw an add for a special episode called "Say Yes to the Dress: Big Bliss." A special show that showcases plus sized brides searching for their dream wedding dresses.
Excuse me?
I have to admit, my first reaction was positive. The average size of a bride-to-be on this show is a size 4, four full sizes below the national average. A more realistic pool of women searching for dresses would be welcome indeed, thank God for it! Then it hit me. Our own show? Really? My ass actually needs to be separated from smaller asses in IT'S OWN SHOW?
Oh. No. They. Didn't.
This attempt to be culturally relevant, to not perpetuate the image of starving, bony women as the ideal of beauty does the exact opposite. It says that maybe it's okay to be larger than a size four, but while you are not exactly inferior, you are most certainly not equal. In fact, you need your own show, because if we put you in the regular show then people wouldn't watch. Yes, obesity is an issue in this country and yes it should be addressed, but it should not be divisive. Fat is not a whole different demographic. If you want to support women of all different sizes then do it, but don't separate them into categories.
There has been a lot of press lately regarding a comment made by an actress from the HBO series, True Blood. When asked about her diet and exercises regimen, Kristin Bauer admitted that she is, and for as long as she continues to be in show business will continue to be, hungry. This is the price she willingly pays for being an actress.
I am glad that Kristin Bauer was honest. I am glad that she did not toe the line of every size two actress out there who insists they eat cake and carbs and everything delicious, just "in moderation." I am glad in the way I was when Gwen Stephani told reporters that her body was not accidental, rather it was the result of hard work and never taking a day off from her diet. Women are telling the truth about what they pay and sacrifice to be "beautiful" even when its insane, yet they continue to do it. Somewhere along the way we decided that not eating was an okay sacrifice, that thin tastes better than cheesecake.
There is something that tastes better than being thin. It's called self-respect.
The triumph of The Wedding over Marriage is nothing new but the glorification of it seems to be reaching a fever pitch. There is a rhetoric that seems to surround weddings lately ( i.e. "MY special day" or the day that "I am a princess") that is lacking in the concept of 'we' that I thought was inherent in matrimony. Please don't get me wrong - I've been to many heartfelt, sincere and beautiful weddings the past few years and I know that the concept of marriage is alive and well. It's just this idea perpetuated by shows such as Say Yes to the Dress in which women, who identify having a more than ample budget of 3 thousand dollars with which to purchase a dress, throw all caution to the wind and spend the equivalent of the down payment for a house instead. All because it is what they want.
My disdain for the ideals being portrayed in this show is hypocritical because it in no way, shape or form dissuades me from watching it. The dresses are beautiful, there's just no way around that. The people range from from blase to dramatic, completely normal to flaming insane. They yell, they cry and then they just start making shit up. It's always a good time, mostly because I can almost always find the entertainment value in the unwarranted tears of the self-absorbed and insane.
While watching Say Yes today I saw an add for a special episode called "Say Yes to the Dress: Big Bliss." A special show that showcases plus sized brides searching for their dream wedding dresses.
Excuse me?
I have to admit, my first reaction was positive. The average size of a bride-to-be on this show is a size 4, four full sizes below the national average. A more realistic pool of women searching for dresses would be welcome indeed, thank God for it! Then it hit me. Our own show? Really? My ass actually needs to be separated from smaller asses in IT'S OWN SHOW?
Oh. No. They. Didn't.
This attempt to be culturally relevant, to not perpetuate the image of starving, bony women as the ideal of beauty does the exact opposite. It says that maybe it's okay to be larger than a size four, but while you are not exactly inferior, you are most certainly not equal. In fact, you need your own show, because if we put you in the regular show then people wouldn't watch. Yes, obesity is an issue in this country and yes it should be addressed, but it should not be divisive. Fat is not a whole different demographic. If you want to support women of all different sizes then do it, but don't separate them into categories.
There has been a lot of press lately regarding a comment made by an actress from the HBO series, True Blood. When asked about her diet and exercises regimen, Kristin Bauer admitted that she is, and for as long as she continues to be in show business will continue to be, hungry. This is the price she willingly pays for being an actress.
I am glad that Kristin Bauer was honest. I am glad that she did not toe the line of every size two actress out there who insists they eat cake and carbs and everything delicious, just "in moderation." I am glad in the way I was when Gwen Stephani told reporters that her body was not accidental, rather it was the result of hard work and never taking a day off from her diet. Women are telling the truth about what they pay and sacrifice to be "beautiful" even when its insane, yet they continue to do it. Somewhere along the way we decided that not eating was an okay sacrifice, that thin tastes better than cheesecake.
There is something that tastes better than being thin. It's called self-respect.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
A Concert Series
I've decided that its time for me to come clean. It's time to stop cowering behind the information that I surreptitiously glean from conversations and car rides with Wes. It's time to own up: I have abysmal taste in music.
The best one can say about my taste in music is that it is eclectic if inequitable. I love Tom Waits, Bob Dylan and Fleetwood Mac, but I also loooove Britney, Taio Cruz and Katy Perry. It may seem wrong and deplorable but they are like children: different (VERY different) but equally loved and appreciated despite the disparity in their technical skill sets.
Given this information, one would not anticipate what I am about to talk about. It's one of those unlikely pairings like Othello and Desdemona, or maple syrup and pickles. There's something about good live music that makes me want to shake my rrrump, smile, close my eyes and sway all at the same time. Just like there's nothing like a good thumping base (and some vodka) to make me shake my money maker, there's nothing like a concert to make me want to smile.
In July, Wes and I saw Dave Matthews Band in West Palm. For those of you just tuning in, West Palm Beach is synonymous with amazing because it means I get to see Club Fun for a night. Since the Universe was feeling kind said reunion occurred over an outstanding coconut shrimp sushi role. Thank you oh holiest of Universes for Hog Snappers all things akin to a coconut shrimp sushi roll.
Back to my point: DMB. I have to admit that even though I've seen them live the last three out of four years, I don't love, love, LOVE DMB. I like Dave Matthews Band but my like is pretty well limited to their songs with words. What can I say, I like to sing along. DMB live though is a lot of jamming, I'm sure it's a lot of fun for the band but I have to admit it doesn't exactly make my nipples fly off. Regardless, while I sat on the lawn in the West Palm Amphitheater and I realized that I was just plain, uncomplicated happy. Maybe it was the gigantic beers after a day at the pool, or maybe it was the relief of not getting caught in a South Florida summer rainstorm. Maybe it was being asked: "hey, will you stand in front of me so that strangers won't see me pee into this empty beer cup." I don't really know but I do know that I was just really...content. It was this amazing weekend that I haven't blogged about it because I just didn't know how to explain this contentedness with getting all gooey, mundane and cliche. I'm okay with gooey but there's nothing worse than mundane and cliche.
This past weekend we went to see O.A.R at the St. Augustine Amphitheater and I got it. Somewhere amidst the pot smoke and saxophone playing I got it. I love concerts because they are giant assemblage of happy people. Everyone at a concert is happy. People dance like arm flailing is going out of style and nobody's watching so the just go for it. Watching the other concert-goers this past weekend there was a freedom, a pure, unadulterated sense of glee and the need to move one's body in accordance. That is what I love about live music.
The best one can say about my taste in music is that it is eclectic if inequitable. I love Tom Waits, Bob Dylan and Fleetwood Mac, but I also loooove Britney, Taio Cruz and Katy Perry. It may seem wrong and deplorable but they are like children: different (VERY different) but equally loved and appreciated despite the disparity in their technical skill sets.
Given this information, one would not anticipate what I am about to talk about. It's one of those unlikely pairings like Othello and Desdemona, or maple syrup and pickles. There's something about good live music that makes me want to shake my rrrump, smile, close my eyes and sway all at the same time. Just like there's nothing like a good thumping base (and some vodka) to make me shake my money maker, there's nothing like a concert to make me want to smile.
In July, Wes and I saw Dave Matthews Band in West Palm. For those of you just tuning in, West Palm Beach is synonymous with amazing because it means I get to see Club Fun for a night. Since the Universe was feeling kind said reunion occurred over an outstanding coconut shrimp sushi role. Thank you oh holiest of Universes for Hog Snappers all things akin to a coconut shrimp sushi roll.
Back to my point: DMB. I have to admit that even though I've seen them live the last three out of four years, I don't love, love, LOVE DMB. I like Dave Matthews Band but my like is pretty well limited to their songs with words. What can I say, I like to sing along. DMB live though is a lot of jamming, I'm sure it's a lot of fun for the band but I have to admit it doesn't exactly make my nipples fly off. Regardless, while I sat on the lawn in the West Palm Amphitheater and I realized that I was just plain, uncomplicated happy. Maybe it was the gigantic beers after a day at the pool, or maybe it was the relief of not getting caught in a South Florida summer rainstorm. Maybe it was being asked: "hey, will you stand in front of me so that strangers won't see me pee into this empty beer cup." I don't really know but I do know that I was just really...content. It was this amazing weekend that I haven't blogged about it because I just didn't know how to explain this contentedness with getting all gooey, mundane and cliche. I'm okay with gooey but there's nothing worse than mundane and cliche.
This past weekend we went to see O.A.R at the St. Augustine Amphitheater and I got it. Somewhere amidst the pot smoke and saxophone playing I got it. I love concerts because they are giant assemblage of happy people. Everyone at a concert is happy. People dance like arm flailing is going out of style and nobody's watching so the just go for it. Watching the other concert-goers this past weekend there was a freedom, a pure, unadulterated sense of glee and the need to move one's body in accordance. That is what I love about live music.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Quote of the Day
"Peering into this world was kind of like the zoomed-in penetration shot in a cheesy porn video: you could barely tell which end was up, which part was which, or, more importantly, who exactly was screwing whom."
- Antonio
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
and we're caught between the crossfire of heaven and hell
Brandon Flowers - Crossfire
Tell the devil he can go back from where he came
his fiery arrows drew their bead in vain
and when the hardest part is over
we'll be here
and our dreams will break the boundaries of our fears.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
A Fried Chicken State of Mind
This past weekend Wes and I participated in Operation Surprise Andy. Much to our enjoyment and Jen's planning, it actually WAS a surprise and Andy was so excited, he did a whirly-gig happy dance in the middle of Howl at the Moon. While a few weeks shy of Andy's actual 30th birthday, we didn't let that get in our way. There were vodka drinks and (for a few people who clearly have not learned their lesson yet) Jager shots and an arsenal of very bad music played by a band with an out of this world range.
Like most birthdays lately, the topic of "we're oooold" came up. In the last few years, I've noticed an uptick in people making the assertion that "we" are old. I find this to be nothing short of obscene. While I may occasionally feel old ((it happens when you live in a town with a mean age of 22) so long as my age starts with a 2 and probably long afterwards, I refuse to be old. So while I am not so young as the girl celebrating her 21st birthday at Howl at the Moon last Friday night, that is an okay thing to me. So maybe we started our night at Howl later than I generally go to bed, but this isn't evidence that I'm "old," so much as it's indicative of my intrinsic lameness. Much like my college years we left Howl after many a beer and few tequilla shots but this time around I did not vomit and I also slept in a bed with sheets and pillows. These things did not happen when I was road tripping at 21.
Nowm I've ALWAYS been that annoying girl who can't sleep in after a night of drinking. 17, 22 or 27, I'm up by 730 and jonesing for a toothbrush, a shower and a giant bottle of water. Then I typically read for four hours while I wait for everyone else to wake up. True to form I woke up Saturday morning, brushed those teethies, took a shower and went in search of water but what did I find? Coffee and a surprisingly substantive conversation with the other early risers. My how the times have changed :)
Then came the day of fried chicken. Ca'lina BBQ, I LOVE YOU!! There was fried chicken and biscuits for breakfast, welcome to the South my friend. There was no lunch (mostly because we ate fried chicken and biscuits for breakfast) but there was fried BBQ chicken with hush puppies and coleslaw for dinner. I didn't know that you can make coleslaw with vinegar instead of mayo but Oh. My. God.
The food alone was fabulous but it was the company of fantastically laid back, fun people that was the best part. Runner up to the best part was that I was with women who actually ATE. It's new, it's novel and it was great! Sure we all knew it was a ridiculously decadent day and that there would be more than few nights of salad to make up for it but we all ate it and nobody felt compelled to talk about it. We just ate it and it was good.
This past weekend. It was good. :) Happy Birthday A-Diddy!! We love you!
Like most birthdays lately, the topic of "we're oooold" came up. In the last few years, I've noticed an uptick in people making the assertion that "we" are old. I find this to be nothing short of obscene. While I may occasionally feel old ((it happens when you live in a town with a mean age of 22) so long as my age starts with a 2 and probably long afterwards, I refuse to be old. So while I am not so young as the girl celebrating her 21st birthday at Howl at the Moon last Friday night, that is an okay thing to me. So maybe we started our night at Howl later than I generally go to bed, but this isn't evidence that I'm "old," so much as it's indicative of my intrinsic lameness. Much like my college years we left Howl after many a beer and few tequilla shots but this time around I did not vomit and I also slept in a bed with sheets and pillows. These things did not happen when I was road tripping at 21.
Nowm I've ALWAYS been that annoying girl who can't sleep in after a night of drinking. 17, 22 or 27, I'm up by 730 and jonesing for a toothbrush, a shower and a giant bottle of water. Then I typically read for four hours while I wait for everyone else to wake up. True to form I woke up Saturday morning, brushed those teethies, took a shower and went in search of water but what did I find? Coffee and a surprisingly substantive conversation with the other early risers. My how the times have changed :)
Then came the day of fried chicken. Ca'lina BBQ, I LOVE YOU!! There was fried chicken and biscuits for breakfast, welcome to the South my friend. There was no lunch (mostly because we ate fried chicken and biscuits for breakfast) but there was fried BBQ chicken with hush puppies and coleslaw for dinner. I didn't know that you can make coleslaw with vinegar instead of mayo but Oh. My. God.
The food alone was fabulous but it was the company of fantastically laid back, fun people that was the best part. Runner up to the best part was that I was with women who actually ATE. It's new, it's novel and it was great! Sure we all knew it was a ridiculously decadent day and that there would be more than few nights of salad to make up for it but we all ate it and nobody felt compelled to talk about it. We just ate it and it was good.
This past weekend. It was good. :) Happy Birthday A-Diddy!! We love you!
A word on portion control...
I'm not sure whether my tendency to be found scraping the bottom of what once held my Amy's Mattar Paneer
is a testament to the tastyness of said food or just an indication of a personal rebellion against portion control.
I suspect it is both.
is a testament to the tastyness of said food or just an indication of a personal rebellion against portion control.
I suspect it is both.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Who needs math when you can just dance in a cage on the weekends?
I had a not so great Math teacher in 8th grade named Ms. Uman. She was a Go-Go dancer on the weekends and did a MEAN lawnmower dance. Excellent role model this chick, EXCELLENT. (Sorry Ms. Uman, but its true.) In retrospect I know she was a not so great teacher because she was ALWAYS sitting down on the stool in the front of the room. I have 12K in debt and a Masters degree in Education that taught me sitting teachers are generally lazy teachers. At the time, I knew it because at the end of the semester she told that class we'd only covered about 1/2 the curriculum but not to worry, we could always just repeat it next year. Awesome.
There was a kid in Ms. Uman's 5th period class that only had one shirt. He was quiet and he sat in the back of the classroom. I have to admit that I never noticed him until someone started talking about the fact that he never changed his shirt. The giggling started each day when he walked in wearing the same waaay too large shirt. The giggles turned to talking which turned to gossip and the gossip in turn became a class joke.
This is what I think of when I hear complaining about the uniforms imposed by the Alachua County School Board this year.
Limiting students to plain polo shirts, khakis and jeans may (and I say may with as much skepticism as can be crammed into a three letter word) repress student individuality and freedom of expression. These quasi-uniforms may not be strict enough to bridge the gap between the haves and have nots. It will however make the Joe's less noticeable.
There was a kid in Ms. Uman's 5th period class that only had one shirt. He was quiet and he sat in the back of the classroom. I have to admit that I never noticed him until someone started talking about the fact that he never changed his shirt. The giggling started each day when he walked in wearing the same waaay too large shirt. The giggles turned to talking which turned to gossip and the gossip in turn became a class joke.
This is what I think of when I hear complaining about the uniforms imposed by the Alachua County School Board this year.
Limiting students to plain polo shirts, khakis and jeans may (and I say may with as much skepticism as can be crammed into a three letter word) repress student individuality and freedom of expression. These quasi-uniforms may not be strict enough to bridge the gap between the haves and have nots. It will however make the Joe's less noticeable.
Friday, September 3, 2010
I confess you are the best thing in my life
I confess you are the best thing in my life
But I'm afraid when I hear stories
About a husband and wife
There's no happy endings
No Henry Lee
But you are the greatest thing about me
If it's love
And we decide that it's forever
No one else could do it better
But I'm afraid when I hear stories
About a husband and wife
There's no happy endings
No Henry Lee
But you are the greatest thing about me
If it's love
And we decide that it's forever
No one else could do it better
If it's love
And we're two birds of a feather
Then the rest is just whenever
Train "If It's Love"
Happy Birthday Nurse Leslie!!
Nurse Leslie goes to South Carolina and meets disaster in a bowl of South Ca'lina BBQ.
.
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