I took a few pictures while running errands this morning in Middlebury that I thought I would share for funsies. And while it's not as cold as it has been and it's not snowing as hard as it could, I think these pictures illustrate the ideas of "cold" and "Vermont" pretty well. On a related note, I am now wearing toe warmers for everyday purposes. Also, I'm thinking of setting up a tip line for the retrieval of my black gloves.
Here are the rapidly rushing falls at Otter Creek:
There's a whole lot of crazy cold mist coming off that water.
Here's a moderately calmer section of Otter Creek (but the water was still rushing along....if you look carefully you can see waves and snow):
And finally, here's some ice, snow, and cold water (or, as I like to call it H20, three ways):
In honor of Christmas Eve/Christmas, I decided to blog Wednesday's lunch. Here are some pictures of the sandwiches at Noonie Deli in Middlebury, Vermont. It's the first thing I want to do when I get to Vermont. I'd like to say that it's the best sandwich place ever, but since I like so many different kinds of sandwiches, I can't really make that claim. I can say, however, that Noonie's is hands-down awesome. I'll avoid a discussion of the super-creepy Esquire peice on the Noonie's Girl, and let the sandwiches speak for themselves.
For my veggie friends, my veggie sandwich from lunch yesterday:
I think the word that best describes this sandwich is huge. And I could have had more veggies if I wanted them.
And N's lunch, the Purple's Pleasure, which is very much not a vegetarian sandwich:
On this December 23rd I wish you and your family a happy Festivus. Let's hope that the Airing of Grievances this year is not as bad as it could be (maybe everyone has forgotten a thing or two or is generally pleased with each other) and that its not your turn to pin the head of the household during the Feats of Great Strength. Here's to a Festivus sitting cozily by the Festivus pole, enjoying your traditional Pepperidge Farm cake decorated with M&Ms as someone else in your family wrestles your father to the ground to end the holiday. Just remember that if the commercialism of Christmas has got you down, there's a lot of comfort in knowing there's a "Festivus for the rest of us."
I've already wished my parents a Happy Festivus, so if you haven't done the same, you should probably get on the phone, go downstairs, come up from the basement (which is totally yours; I mean, your mom probably hardly ever comes down there unless she's doing laundry), or get in the car and drive to your family Festivus gathering already. Otherwise, this will probably end up being the first Grievance Aired next year. And you know that means that you might have to perform a Feat of Great Strength. That is the exact opposite of a Festivus Miracle.
If you're shaky on Festivus traditions or the concept of Festivus in general, you can check out this summary of clips explaining the holiday from the famous Seinfeld episode "The Strike."
And for anyone wondering what I got you for Christmas, a donation has been made in your name to the Human Fund ("Money for People").
Because she so aptly describes the situation of those who have grown up but who are still imagining who they might be when they grow up, I really enjoyed Mindy Kaling's piece in Sunday's edition of The New York Times, "Sculpting a Fantasy of a Family." In fact, I've been trying to figure out what to say about it since then because there's plenty to say on the issue, yet she said it so well. In her essay, Kaling describes an interesting aspect of one's late twenties or early thirties - the fact it is entirely possible to have created a family and the likelihood of being mistaken for one of the adults in charge. Part of what caught my attention in Kaling's piece is the same thing that seems to have caught hortense's fancy in her response to Kaling on Jezebel on Sunday; what gets imaginged is sort of fun and captures a particular moment in a person's life. What gets imagined as part of the future tends to reflect a person's hopes, ambitions, and worldview at a particular moment in time and it can be fun to charge one's progress throughout those stages. It is also interesting to think about the way in which family takes on new forms as we get older and live increasingly independent lives; we value the families we were born into, but we start to shape independent families of our own in many ways as we get older. And part of that process of shaping involves a lot of imagining what one's adult world might look like.
But I could also sympathize with Kaling's essay in another way. Early in her essay, she describes just going along with a valet's assumption that she has a husband and kids to mangage during the holiday season. While she feels slightly guilty about not correcting him, Kaling claims that for a second, she looks at herself as that person. With a good number of people my age and on my radar married with children, I understand the differences between their lives and my own and how the divide that separates our lives isn't that far apart. In fact, I've been known to imagine what people might think of me during a mid-day macaroni and cheese run. I mean, I'm in my late twenties, but young-looking, so it could be for me. Also, I do look mighty hungry on the check-out line. And I'm probably springing for deluxe, which means that I've elevated mac and cheese above the powdered cheese iteration. But it is picky kids food. And if I'm running to the store in the middle of the day for mac and cheese, chances are that my grooming is probably lacking. Who knows where I'm running from and to and who's waiting for me. So the big question is: Who, exactly, do they think the Annie's Organic Mac and Cheese is for?
I decided to head out on Sunday afternoon and finally get a picture of one of the huge, steel Advent wreathes placed on the bridges and at the town hall complex in Bethlehem, PA. This particular wreath is perched on the wall at the back of the town hall complex and is a lovely welcome to the center of town for those traveling to the North Side over the New Street/Fahy Bridge. These wreathes are only a small part of the large-scale decorating scheme in town, as Bethlehem takes the title of "Christmas City" very, very seriously.
Note: I'm only guessing that these wreathes are made of steel, but since just about every long-standing sculpture in town is made of steel (because of the whole Bethlehehem Steel thing), I figure it's a safe guess. These particular wreathes mark Advent accurately and are truly gigantic. And awesome.
To round out this relatively prolific Friday, I thought I'd share two things I'm enjoying this morning. They're a little random, but then again, so am I. Especially on lazy Fridays. So, here are the things that are capturing my fancy while I decide what to have for lunch.
First, I'm positing a link to a This American Life episode titled "What is this Thing," originally broadcast February 4, 2005. While the whole episode is a great discussion of love and its many forms - including long-time love, romance writing, and gender - I'm really positng it for Sarah Vowell's piece, "The Greatest Love Story of the 20th Century." This love story is the story of Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash and the song "Ring of Fire." It's about 10 minutes long (it starts about 46 minutes in, though I highly recommend the whole episode) and discusses how the couple met, how June Carter Cash came to write "Ring of Fire," the many interpretations of the song, and their marriage.
Second, I've been really enjoying Salon's "The Year in Crazy 2009." I'm linking to the Gosselins as to not ruin the rest of the somewhat predictable, but still interesting, list.
Last night, I celebrated the completion of two friends' dissertations and I wanted to do something to acknowledge the event. I considered greeting cards, floral arrangements, homemade t-shirts, making an concentrated effort to call both of them "The Good Doctor So-and-So-All" night, running around the bar making sure I bought them both beers, blood donations in their names, and finally decided to go old school. Certificiates! Of Achievement! Because, really, when you've achieved something important, there's nothing like a colorful piece of paper acknowledging that you achieved something important. Also, certificates are a reminder of a simpler time, one filled with stickers and smiley face stamps that used to let those of us who were good at school know that, as third graders, we really had some smarts. Graduate school can be difficult for a number of reasons and finishing a dissertation can be hard based on the nature of the project, but sometimes it's the simple things that told us we were good at something that we miss the most, like a certificate telling us we did a good job. I really should have slapped a sticker on my Master's thesis.
I usually just let Pandora do its thing while I'm grading. My office is pretty quiet and I like to generate some good working noise. Plus, the music drowns out my occasional groans when the English language is being beaten severely or when American history is being fully revised to fit a writer's particular needs. (Ask me about American presidents. You won't be disappointed.) Here's a link to the music video of the song that perked me up a bit, "Missed the Boat" by Modest Mouse.
Even though it comes a little late in the game, I thought I would write about the newest Wes Anderson film, Fantastic Mr. Fox, based on the Roald Dahl book of the same name. While I will admit that I generally like Wes Anderson's work - despite recent criticisms that he's become a bit too "twee" and has basically taken and unique aesthetic and turned it into a meandering gimmick - I thought that Fantastic Mr. Fox was definitely something special. And I'm not saying that simply because I sometimes live my life in moderately twee climate. I've seen almost every Wes Anderson movie (with the exception of Bottle Rocket, which I have had on DVD for quite some time, but haven't watched yet for reasons that are unclear, even to me) and felt during Fantastic Mr. Fox the way I did when I first saw Rushmore and The Royal Tennenbaums - like I was seeing something new, something that pleased me aesthetically, and something that I wouldn't be able to find everywhere.
Fantastic Mr. Fox was beautifully shot and designed; the stop-motion is just beautiful and the painstaking attention to detail in creating the world of Mr. Fox showcases what Anderson is best at doing - creating a world that looks familiar, but is completely unique in and of itself. Wes Anderson movies are always a little emotionally heavy, especially about family matters, the movie's main plot - the heist caper - and the casting of George Clooney as Mr. Fox adds both lightness and direction to the movie. While I tend to like Anderson's darker humor and the emotional heaviness of his live-action movies, I thought that there was a balance in The Fantastic Mr. Fox that I really haven't seen in many of his movies. Funny things were sometimes simply funny and not funny/sad and the moments of emotion or familial tension were secondary to the ultimate direction and pace of the movie. Throughout the entire 90 minutes I spent in the theater, I didn't feel rushed; I thought the movie lingered enough and moved enough in equal proportions. In Anderson's live-action movies, we tend to dwell; but then again, I think that's the entire point of those films. But it was nice to see how Anderson's vision could be focused to build to a crescendo and a satisfying resolution without losing its essential uniqueness.
For Anderson fans, die-hard or not, here's a clip from Rushmore that includes one of my favorite lines, "She's my Rushmore, Max." It also does a good job of showing how a standard Anderson movies moves - slowly, deliberately, and building oddly two-dimensional but moving characters. And here's my favorite scene from The Royal Tennenbaums, in which Richie Tennenbaum's "usual escort, the one from his days on the circuit" meets him "by way of the Green Line Bus." I love this scene for it's camera work, Alec Baldwin's narration, and becuase it's my favorite work from both Gwenyth Paltrow and Luke Wilson. Oh, yeah, and the music isn't bad either. Oh, and for tennis fans, here's another favorite, Richie's last match at Windswept Fields.
I'm still a little flattened today, so I've decided to share some of my favorite musical numbers from my favorite Christmas musicals. (Calm down, I only have, like, two favorites.) And while I know it's more fashionable to be out of the holiday spirit than in it, I'm going to indulge the cheery side of my personality today. So, here goes nothing:
If I were still in college, my roommate and I would have already broken out the DVD of A Muppet Christmas Carol and annoyed the people we lived with who found this behavior immature. This movie tends to be particularly hard to find on television; Christmas 2003 is the only time I remember stumbling across it, and it was such a welcome surprise that my whole family watched. For this particular holiday pick, I've chosen a song that I think perfectly captures the feeling of Christmas Eve when you're a kid and Christmas is so loaded with excitement. Here's "One More Sleep 'Til Christmas" (Small note: this is in that odd, early '90s period when they hadn't found a solid replacement for Jim Henson, so Kermit sounds a little off. Not way off, but enough to add a little unintentional gravity to an otherwise hopeful movie.)
My second selections are from a Christmas movie that follows in the grand tradition of most "classic" Christmas movies - it's a solid film that is, incidentally, set at Christmastime. What I love about older Christmas movies is the way in which everyday life is balanced with the idea the sense of a little (but not too much) extra possibility on Christmas. While this description could easily apply to It's a Wonderful Life, right now I'm speaking about White Christmas, which, when you think about it, features exactly one Christmas song. The rest of the numbers in the movie are about dancing, snow, gratitude, and the pitfalls of life outside the army. So, the two videos I'm picking have absolutely nothing to do with Christmas. First, "Count Your Blessings (Instead of Sheep)," featuring the very young, very pretty Rosemary Clooney (I couldn't get the whole song off YouTube, but this works well enough). Secondly, here's a song that frequently that gets cut when a network decides that it doesn't have the programming space for the epic version of White Christmas, "Snow," which, I think, perfectly captures the fun of going to Vermont in December. I have found, though, that repeatedly singing "Snow" both on the way to and during Christmas in Vermont is not something everyone appreciates.
Speaking of Christmas in Vermont, here's a picture of a mug from Rosie's in Middlebury, where I plan to breakfast at some point next week.
In an ideal world, when one is sick, a marathon of his or her favorite comfort television shows should be airing somewhere on television. During the holiday season, this marathon should be offset by a variety of quality, engaging Christmas movies. This weekend, however, as I try to will myself to shake this cold, the cable gods have not complied. And, I played my Netflix hand all wrong and watched everything on Friday. Yes, I could watch a movie, but the ability to flip around channels for unexpected television delights is the entire point of a sick day on the couch. In honor of today's slim pickings, I've complied a short, quick list of ideal sick-day television programmingthat allows for regular and enjoyable channel-surfing:
1. A long block of procedural police/detective shows, like The Closer and Bones.
2. White Christmas, which is, by my estimation, the ideal holiday season afternoon movie.
3. Throwdown with Bobby Flay, Cake Boss, Alton Brown, or Iron Chef America
4. Music videos
5. A marathon of MythBusters or Dirty Jobs
6. The Love Boat
7. Law and Order: Criminal Intent
I asked my mom this question, too, which gives me my #8: The Mary Tyler Moore Show and any of the Bob Newhart shows, though I think she leans heavily towards the Chicago/dentist version.
And for those who are simply too cold to go out and ordering pizzas like me, here's a little Lazy Sunday.
Today, I couldn't help but pump my fist in the air when Billboard announced the top album of the decade, *NSync's "No Strings Attached." While I wouldn't have admitted it at the time - since, in 2000-2001, I was making a series of failed attempts at being cool - this album is probably one of my all-time favorites. "No Strings Attached" is one of the last albums I purchased and probably the last one I learned all the words to. (With the exception of "Greatest Hits" CDs by artists I grew up listening to. But they don't really count, since most of us buy those albums for the songs we already know. "Greatest Hits" albums, in my opinion, are more about convenience than learning.) I was never much of a Backstreet Boys fan, but I couldn't help being drawn to *NSync. Even today, I can only explain my fondness for that band as stemming from the same impulse that makes me love running to Miley Cyrus's "Party in the U.S.A." - I loves me a catchy pop song. And maybe because there's always been something about Justin Timberlake. Yeah, sure, I like the more indie, introspective stuff, too, but there's nothing like belting out a good pop song in the car or bouncing along to one on a treadmill to fix most of what's gone wrong during the day.
In honor of *NSync, I'm posting the video for "Bye, Bye, Bye," because it's everything the band was at its height - flashy, stylized, overproduced, dancy, and fun.
"No Strings Attached" the album led to the No Strings Attached Tour, which I attended at Giants Stadium in the summer of 2000. We forget it now, but boy bands were huge enough then that a major stadium tour, complete with stylized motorized broncos, lighting effects, and flying out over the audience were par for the course. If I remember correctly, Jessica Simpson and Pink were the opening acts. Oh, and the whole thing was tons of fun. I was 19 that summer and my friend and I got tickets to the show at the last minute. We actually ended up being on the first level of Giants Stadium, near the front, perpendicular to the stage. I really couldn't see much, but that's not news since I'm short I never really see much of anything in crowds. But seeing the show didn't really matter because the whole experience was designed to be completely overwhelming. I actually don't remember many of the details of the show because so much going on at once, but I do remember having lots of fun. The only person who was too cool for school was the 12 year-old sitting next to me. Her mom was into it, the 20 and 19 year-old next to her were having a good time, but she was going not - I repeat, not - going to betray emotion or interest while she was trapped in that stadium. Anyway, when they finally got around to performing "Bye, Bye, Bye," basically everyone in the stadium rocked out except this girl. Her mom was dancing, I was dancing, my friend was dancing, and I felt like this kid was being really judgy for not at least attempting to enjoy herself during the hit single portion of the show. I mean, come on, you're at an *N Sync concert. It's like Vegas; what happens there stays there. So, I looked over at her while she was sneering at all of us and said, "Come on, like you don't know the words, too." And then I went back to doing my poor imitation of the "Bye, Bye, Bye" video's choreography.
Also in today's press release from Billboard (via the Associated Press, via MSNBC) was the announcement that Mariah Carey's "We Belong Together" was the decade's most popular single. This happens to be another song that I love singing in the car alone (have I mentioned that I'm pretty tone deaf?) and a video that I love for it's melodrama and trippiness. Not is the video a sequel to the "It's Like That" video, but it also features the insane wedding dress Mariah Carey wore when she married Tommy Mottola, the plot hinges on a love triange between Mariah Carey, Wentworth Miller, and Eric Roberts, and it's directed by Brett Ratner. This video alone makes me miss the days when MTV and VH1 devoted a significant number of programming hours to airing videos.
Christmastime Bonus: *NSync's "Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays." And yes, that is Gary Coleman as Santa's personal assistant. And yes, I have this on CD.
Thursdays are always a little rushed, so don't have a single, coherent thing to ruminate on tonight. So, I figured I'd post the shortest thing that struck me the funniest from last night's Colbert Report.
I have a healthy love for reality television shows of all sorts, particularly those that involve making something by the end of the episode. I think it's because thsi type of television makes me feel oddly productive. I can, at the end of an hour or half-hour, be secure in the knowledge that while I sat on the couch and ate sugar cereal (for dessert only), I technically learned how to do something like decorate a cake or build a specialty motorcyle. I'd like to think that, if pressed, I could replicate the skills I've seen on television and sufficiently wow Tim Gunn or impress Padma Lakshmi. I realize this is a complete delusion created to justify my watching preferences, but it makes me feel like an athletic, flexible, multi-skilled individual.
But anyway, I love (most) reality TV. And I particularly love reality television that centers around competitive cooking. As a relatively picky eater, I experience none of the frustration of the viewer with the more advanced palate. I will never, ever order squab anywhere, so I don't get mad that I can't taste the squab or judge its seasoning and texture, so I'm fine if the tv people just tell me how it is. (A few notes on squab and me : First, it's completely beyond my taste preferences. Secondly, I looked it up on Wikipedia, so now I know what it is. Which means any chance of me eating it is more or less out the window.). I can be completely objective since, for me, watching Top Chef is almost the same as watching Project Runway before they moved it off Bravo and I didn't feel like tracking it down.*
And this season of Top Chef was pretty awesome. It was actually about cooking, being a chef, and having tons of body art, which prompted me to ask the question: does a chef know that he or she has really made it when they finally say, "Heck, I'm going to fill in both tattoo sleeves?" Most of the chefs were pretty standard Top Chef fare - relatively decent chefs who sort of choked and succeeded in equal measures until they were finally, mercifully cut from the show. It was pretty clear from, like, the third week that the final four would be Jennifer, Kevin, and Bryan and Michael Voltaggio (I know! Brothers! Drama!), and the only real suspense was who was trying to figure out when the other thirteen people would be asked to pack their knives and go. But it was still a great season because these four chefs were so badass. I actually rewound my TiVo more than once to watch Michael and Jen butcher and prep rabbits. It was crazy, silent, and filled with a strange energy that made me need to sort out my feelings about what I had seen.
And even though there were opportunities for Brothers! Drama! that Bravo looked for all season with quick cuts and response shots, the Voltaggios played it cool and churned out straight-up solid food throughout the season. I appreciated both their coolness and skill, since it made it harder for me to pick which one I liked best because I tend to develop television crushes on intense, skilled professionals. And while I'm still pretty mostly on Team Bryan (older siblings unite!), I was both surprised and pleased to see Michael win in part two of the two part season finale. His meal was interesting - though, not I think, the best thing he produced all season - and I really thought Bryan was going to win, but the way Michael's cool guy veneer just broke down when Padma told him he was Top Chef was really something to see. Even more watchable was the way that both Tom Colicchio and Toby Young also started to tear up once they realized that Michael had dissolved into a triumphant blob. I also appreciate how Michael pointed out to Padma that he was, in fact, capable of emotion. I always enjoy the underlying, sometimes vocalized tension between the cheftestants and Padma and I love any moment when someone declares, I AM NOT A ROBOT.
So, at the end of the sixth season of Top Chef, after many seasons of faithful viewing, I have only one question: Where can I pick up a soundtrack? Because I feel like I could find a place in my life for suspenseful, kitchen related tones.
*True story: Tim Gunn also gives remarkably good teaching advice.
Charlie Brown seasonal specials always air on Tuesdays. This is a law, handed down unto us from the television gods. The Charlie Brown Christmas/Halloween/New Years/Easter/Election Day/Grandparent's Day Extravaganza Special must always air at 8pm on a Tuesday. This Tuesday must be at least two weeks before the holiday, in question as to fit into the hype of said holiday, but not detract from the actual holiday by airing during the period of time when one is looking for wholesome, quality holiday specials to watch. To fill the void, ABC Family airs endless insufferable movies about Christmas shoes or Halloween capers. This is the way we live now.
This is a very long way of saying that once again, I missed "Charlie Brown Christmas". But I knew it was coming and now I feel as though we can officially, as a group, start to celebrate Christmas. Because I don't actually need to see "Charlie Brown Christmas" to enjoy it or to reap its wholesome benefits. Here's why: I know that special by heart even though I've probably only seen it all the way through once. But I know everything that happens during that half-hour, and I can hear Linus in my head, right now, telling everyone about the true meaning of Christmas. (If you would like to hear it for real, here it is.) And the same goes for "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown," which I actually did manage to watch this year because my mom called me. And I realized that I've only seen that special all the way through once or twice, but I still have a creepy, six-sense type familiarity with it as well. I mean, I own a Linus Van Pelt/Great Pumpkin play set. And I think that Linus Van Pelt's commentary that, "There are three things I have learned you never to discuss with people: religion, politics, and the Great Pumpkin" are some of the wisest words ever uttered by someone on television, cartoon or not.
This all leads me to wonder if the Charlie Brown Specials - particularly of the Halloween and Christmas varieties - have been fused into our cultural DNA. I also wonder if this only applies to people of a certain age - those of us in our mid-to-late 20s and 30s - who have parents of a certain age - in their 50s and 60s - who watched and enjoyed these shows with us. Going beyond Charlie Brown, there's a whole body of Christmas specials, that seem to be watched, enjoyed, and spoken about mostly by people my age. This, of course, makes me curious as to whether or not these shows have an appeal beyond our particular demographic or if they're aired every year because there are so many of us who like the television (it's my friend) and becuase our nostalgia is so powerful and marketable.
And in case you were feeling extra nostalgic now that I've brought it up, here's "A Couple of Misfits" song from the stop-action "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer."
During my breakfast and light reading period this morning, I came across the latest installment of Salon's ongoing series "Pinched: Tales From an Economic Downturn" called "I Live in a Van Down by Duke University," which I will admit initially caught my eye because it was this morning's featured main story and because of its titular Chris Farley reference. But aside from my reasons for reading it in the first place, I found the essay brought up a lot of issues that we don't really speak about in America today, like poverty, education, and consumerism. Ken Ilgunas, the author of the piece, engages in a compelling discussion of the real costs of doing the things we value as a culture that are supposed to give us security, like pursuing higher and higher levels of education and the risks of finding unorthodox ways to live while doing them (I particularly liked his humorous digression into his course of action should Duke University catch him living in a van in a campus parking lot. I, too, would like to start wearing all white and inviting undergrads curious in following my ways to have tea with me during a long-term and principled stand against the establishment).
Many of Salon's "Pinched" essays talk about something we generally try to avoid - what happens when you do everything right and everything still goes wrong? But with the current economic situation, we've been forced to ask this question a bit more openly. While I haven't read all of the "Pinched" essays, I recommend Heather Ryan's "Our Cupboard Was Bare," about her experience of having to take her children to the local soup kitchen, and Rosencrans Baldwin's "How I Ended Up Living With My In-Laws," which has a pretty self-explanatory title. For longer works on this topic, I would suggest Barbara Ehrenreich's Bait and Switch: The (Futile) Pursuit of the American Dream.
This morning at breakfast - after a delightful and fulfilling yoga event for Toys for Tots - my friend Colleen told an entire table of people I had just met that I'd be a good pop culture blogger. She said this twice. To be fair, I had given her cause. In the first few minutes of conversation with my fellow breakfasting yogis, I had discussed Steven Segal movies in general (but in particular, the one where he's a country and western singer and has especially fringy jackets for horseback riding) and his new police reality show and had asked another person at the table if she had ever Googled David Sedaris's partner, Hugh Hamrick, to see what he looks like. (I have.) My only answer to Colleen's remarks was to smile at the table, shrug, and say, "Yeah, probably."
Now, the thing you have to know about me is that one of the few people who can tell me what to do (or, at the very least, give me a enough honest encouragement to get started with something I want to do) happens to be Colleen. In general, I like to be both persnickety and stubborn when people tell me things for my own good. It makes me think that I came up with good ideas all by myself. In this case, however, the words, "knock it off with the research and just start writing" got a draft of my dissertation started. And "just suck it up and clean it already" got me to clean a tub and finally shower three days after my boyfriend moved to Indiana. In July. I went for three days without a shower in Indiana in July. If you were wondering, that is beyond discusting. Thank God Colleen and her husband were driving across the country at the time so that she could get real with me in person. I'm lucky that there's someone who can, on a regular basis, cut through the static in my head. So, anyways...even though I've been trying to get this blog underway for a while, things have fallen a bit flat with deadlines, messing around, and my desire to become really, really good at Tetris. But now that I am really, really good at Tetris I think it's time to get things going. Today, I decided that I'm buckling down.
Here's my plan, based on what happens to me every day: I'm pretty good at finding interesting things on the internet, television, and the world around me. And I like to share them. So, from now on, I'm going to make a more focused effort to do that at least once day. Results will vary, but maybe I can get something going here.
Can't find it on the Internets (the tubes must be slow), but last night's Parks and Recreation nearly made me pee myself simply for Leslie Knope's "understandable" lady excuses for why she would have shot her boss in the head while hunting (since "I'm an excellent hunter" only confuses park rangers). (Update: Here it is on Hulu.) Personal favorite: "I have a new bra that hooks in the front, and it popped open and surprised me and I shot Ron in the head." I always wanted the show to work, and I'm glad it finally got funny. Don't just take my word for it: You can find a more articulate version of my feelings here, in Heather Havrilesky's "I Like to Watch" column at Salon.
Also, Oprah quitting her show the day before my 30th birthday. Should that add a new dimension to my feelings about turning 30? The Oprah Winfrey Show has been around most of my life...how should about it ending with my 20s?
It's strange to say, but darn it, I missed being busy. A lot. More than any rational person probably should. When I worked nine to five, I had fantasies of not working nine to five. College life was romanticized and made everything pale in comparison. So carefree, so full of thoughts and feelings and valid emotions I was...in my recollection. So, I re-enlisted. Then, I worked all the time because the thing they don't tell you about going to grad school for English is that YOUR WORK IS PORTABLE and YOU SHOULD FEEL GUILTY FOR SETTING PERSONAL LIMITS. This is the true reason paperback books are the size the are. It is not for the convenience of mainstream American, but for the elaborate social/torture experiment that is graduate school. And while that was all well and good, and in coursework I really did enjoy yelling at people over Washington Irving (note: DO NOT get me started), when it came time to propose a dissertation and then get down to the work of writing it, the lack of structure drove me to the point of distraction. First, I felt funemployed. Daytime television is, in my opinion, a glorious enterprise. Then, as I was developing some intricate theories invovling Kathie Lee and Hoda, it stopped being fun.
But this semester, everything changed. I got an extra job at school. My randomly selected students might turn out to be good citizens. I tutor more. I go home tired. I am a bit more frayed, but more productive. Things are good.
I spent yesterday in the car. I also spent Sunday in the car. While I was physically alone, I aurally (and maybe emotionally) spent the day with Ira Glass and the motley crew that contributes to This American Life. And while I spent the hours between 2 and 4 pm Tuesday afternoon wondering what it says about me that I have an exhaustive knowledge of This American Life and that I socialize with people who can and do exhaustively discuss This American Life, I came home to find that the crew from This American Life is actually everywhere.
Let me prove how I know they're taking over: 1. I saw David Sedaris read live Saturday night in Easton. He was staying in Bethlehem. We were practically neighbors and it made me very, oddly happy. 2. I came home to my TiVoed The Daily Show and found Sarah Vowell promoting the paperback version of The Wordy Shipmates. I have listened to that audio book more than once (ditto for The Partly Cloudy Patriot and Assassination Vacation) and was comforted to learn that someone else gets a kick out of the Puritans and the "city on a hill" references. 3. I started reading Susan Burton and Michael Agger's "Freaky Fortnight" feature on Slate. They've switched roles and jobs for two weeks and are writing about it - she's working at Slate doing his job and he's staying at home doing her job with the kids and nominally freelancing. If you click the link it's worth the read. Due to her work on the radio, I feel a strange sense of completion since most of her stories revolve around her life before her children and family. 4. Every now and again, Dan Savage is everywhere. 5. I actually understand the "thank yous" at the end of each episode. 6. I spend a good number of episodestrying to figure out what the Torey Malatia joke will be.
And the funny thing is, I'm mostly cool with all of this. But, I have to wonder if this also makes me sort of very uncool.
Here we go - I found the article on Slate where Dahlia Lithwick explains her book project and sets her parameters - where she's thinking about engaging chick-lit conventions, where she refuses to go, her acknowledgment of the debate between serious and non-serious literature (something near and dear to my own academic heart and my recreational impulses), and her time limit (she goes back to reporting on the Supreme Court beat October 1, so the book ends then whether it's truly finished or not). You can read her description here.
Since I'm not yet comfortable enough in my new office to hold private dance parties when I don't feel like working, I tend to take to the Internet. This morning, I was spending my time with Dahlia Lithwick's real-time romance novel, Saving Face, on Slate.com. The novel itself is a good read so far (with only two installments down, it's kind of hard to tell, but I already like the characters I've met so far, so that's a good sign) and it's an interesting Internet experiment. Lithwick is writing in one of Slate's short formats, which tends to work well for commentary in general and she's taking reader advice from Facebook. So, in some senses, it's in real-time and collaborative. What's even more interesting is that she gives readers credit where it's due. Little plus signs give us readers' information and suggestions that Lithwick has used to help shape or improve her story. Also, at the end of every post, Lithwick gives us a general idea of where the next installment is going and solicits reader feedback; so, she's got the plot skeleton, but she knows the experiment will be more efficient and the finished product more interesting if many minds help shape the novel.
I'm pretty sure I'm going to join her Facebook page as soon as I'm done writing. I'd like to get more information about the genesis of the project and Lithwick's general vision for what she sees the project doing (or maybe that's the writing teacher in me coming out). The fact is that this romance novel experiment is a well-written, smart, collaborative piece of writing about the love lives and neuroses of professionals in a college town has me somewhat intrigued. So, obviously, I'll be needing to know more about it.
In an attempt to heal my brain but provide myself with a good story, I've been reading through the Sookie Stackhouse Southern Vampire Mysteries by Charlaine Harris. (Full disclosure: I've also been reading them to get hints of what happens on True Blood. Even though I know the show departs from the books, there's still enough in common that I can smugly watch the series and look for all the things that I know are going to happen. That would bother some people, but knowing what's coming makes me enjoy my television all the more.)
Anyway, back to the books. Harris's vampire mysteries are not exactly the most complicated or hard-to-unback books on the market, but they do do something extremely interesting - they engage in a relatively long discussion of social and economic class as they relate to Sookie Stackhouse. While there are plenty of things Sookie overhears about herself in other human (and sometimes shifter) brains that pass judgement on her morals, her friendships with vampires, or her looks, the one thing that really seems to rub Sookie the wrong way is the frequent judgement of others about her occupation - barmaid - and how that must make her both no-count and stupid.
That's fascinating. While Sookie is relatively used to being called "crazy" for her ability to read minds and her relationships with vampires (and her body) make people pass judgements about her sexuality, class judgements and the ways in which people decide who's worthwhile and who's not is one of the most pronounced themes throughout the series. I mean, class is important to Sookie, too - she can't help but let readers know when someone is really trashy or when they're putting on airs - but there's a keen awareness in the books that these judgements are wrong, or at least, rashly made.
This is why I think Sookie likes the vampires so darn much - aside from the whole "she can't hear their thoughts" thing. Vampires think that they're better than most humans, especially those humans who think they're better than Sookie. But in the end, Sookie wins out in this social heirarchy, since the vampires (and all their supernatural friends) think Sookie is probably the only human who matters.
After a while, the start of a new school year rolls in with little fanfare...basically, anything that's assigned is manageable and survivable. And while the beginning of the school year means the end of summer (even while summer's still going on), there a few things to look forward to as the fall begins and things start to pick up in their own, though slightly less carefree and tanned, way. While I'm most certainly a summer person (summer being the only season that I'm not cold all the time), I'm looking forward to change. So, here's a brief list of things I'm looking forward to after having survived my first full week of teaching:
1. The new TV season. I've had hints already with the starts of Man Men and Top Chef, but the beginning of school means that soon my TiVo will be clicking on more frequently to add some new episodes of old favorites. Since I got through the week sharing Liz Lemonisms with the other grad students around the Commons Room, you can tell we're all ready for new things. 2. Fall beers. While I'll miss my light summery beers, I'm ready for some darker, warmer October seasonals as I wind down my weeks. 3. Creamy, cheese-based soups. Sometimes, to go with my beer, sometimes to fill bread bowls, sometimes both. 4. Bethlehem, PA's Celtic Classic. Nothing says Fall to me like Highland Games and a parade of bagpipers. Favorite Saturday of the year. 5. Layering 6. Legitimate rain days and afternoon matinees prompted by the rainy days. 7. A more structured framework for my nightly trashy-novel reading. 8. More devotion to my quest for the best buffalo chicken sandwiches and wraps in my area. Actually, more devotion to sandwiches and finding some good ones in general.
That's all for now, though I might include something very loose about looking forward to another Vermont trip, Halloween, and something about brisker air, too, but I'll leave that for another time.
This week I've been sitting through the English department orientation for new Teaching Fellows, thinking and talking about the class of 2013. I have to admit that I'm starting to feel like I've been blessed with a strange double-sightedness. While most people who know me are unsurprised that I'm strangely fond of Miley Cyrus's "Party in the USA" and enjoy Top 40 radio (yes, radio) for the reason that it's just so darn catchy, I'm noticing that there are a bunch of songs that I would also sing along to appearing with an alarming frequency on LiteFM stations everywhere. (Case in point: I spent last night discussing the songs that I tend to belt out at traffic lights when the windows are down. This tends to be embarassing. One of those songs is "How Do You Talk to an Angel?" I not only identifyed this song on a restaurant radio, but traced its origins back to the one (or so) episode run of The Heights, the Melrose Place spinoff that only someone far too young to watch and understand Melrose Place would be interested in remembering.)
I entered college 10 years ago, in 1999, and while I feel connected in some ways to the First-Year students (or Newbies) that I'll be meeting and teaching on Monday, in other ways we couldn't be more removed from each other. As I was watching families lug comforters, plastic stacking units, microwaves, tvs, clothes, and the various contraband items that our new students have stowed with their possessions to their dorm rooms, I could remember a similarly disgustingly hot day in August when I was dropped off in a strange place, to live in a strange room, with a stranger, and told that the other nearby strangers would help shape my adult life. But, unlike the Newbies, I have the advantage of knowing how that all worked out and how right or wrong these statements were. In some cases, they were mostly right, but it's actually pretty complicated to try to fully agree with any of those first week statements after you've lived through the whole fun/messy/odd college experience.
Another thing that startles me at the beginning of every school year is the fact that while I've lived through a good number of technological, social, cultural, and political changes, for my Newbies, things have always been certain ways. Every year Beloit College posts the "Mindset List" for each incoming college class that gives a general summary of what life has "always been like" for the students entering college. And while I can definitely see the damage #20 has done to them (high-stakes educational testing) in the classroom, I really didn't realize what this group looked like culturally until I read the list. A good deal of my shock might come from the fact that I was 10 years old (or 9, if you count in the late birthdays) when this class was born and I was just starting to become aware of the world around me. I remember when Magic Johnson announced he had HIV. I was in a school full of fifth-graders and people told each other Magic Johnson jokes at lunch and thought they were up on current events. I remember the advent of blue Jello, though I still wish they would re-focus all their efforts into only making red Jello. I remember "discovering" salsa and the early days of its presence in my parents' house. And while I was briefly caught up in the early Berry Berry Kix hype, I still think it's too sugary and pretty disgusting. Especially when it's stale. And I would probably bet good money that my brother would still eat it should a box come his way.
So, what's my point? Well, I'm not sure exactly. I don't feel old remembering the world both before and after these changes. But I feel oddly in between my students and something else in the world. We are definitely of different mindsets and awarenesses; like my parents and other people who aquired portable technology later in life I have a stringent set of rules and expectations regarding its use. But in other ways we're very similar. I'm glad I don't have to use a card catalog anymore. But I'm also glad that I had to go on that fieldtrip to learn how.
What do we expect when we're watching period dramas?
Part of me thinks that we're drawn to them because we see glimpses of our modern selves developing through the characters that stick with us most. In Pride and Prejudice (and even Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, which I finished this morning), a good number of people want to identify with Elizabeth Bennet. I include myself in this number, and not just because we share a name. In my mind - and I'm sure many others - we share common behavioral traits, worldviews, and the ability to be completely socially awkward. But Elizabeth Bennet gives us hope. She's outspoken, stubborn, independent, and the distant handsome guy in the neighborhood seems to love her (and can't stop loving her) for who she is. Yes, he finds her sort of blah when he first meets her and she's fully aware of his opinion when he expresses it in front of her (and even holds it against him), but rather than go the route of Seventeen magazine, or more locally, her mother, and learn how to change herself so that boys like her, she remains basically who she is and wins Mr. Darcy's heart nonetheless. We ignore the parts about how she'll only love someone superior to herself and those moments when she does rely on male authority and holds Darcy above all others because we want to believe that she is our spunky, modern selves, just written a little before we arrived. And, in some ways, she is. A good number of us are awkward, imperfect, and seem to stumble into someone's affections quite haphazardly. (And while it is easy to look at Bridget Jones and see how one can draw a parallel between the past and the present, I abstain for the moment.)
The women of Mad Men have moved in the directions the 1960s are pushing each of them and they're striking because those paths are so very dissimilar. But I wonder if we, those of us who love the show and who are beneficiaries of the movements and cultural shifts of previous decades, will have trouble seeing the women we have found so complex and relatable unable to reach what we might think of as their "full potential." They are, after all, bound by their time (and, in other realms, by a faithfulness to the story and the characters as they are drawn) to act in ways that may fall short for those of us who see the other sides of their experiences and who have the luxury of looking back.
So, why did I start a blog? Well, some people might say it's because I live alone, but it's a little more refined than that. I started a blog because I see a lot of things every day that I want to talk (or, more accurately, write) about but can't find the right forum to discuss.
So, who am I? A Ph.D. student in 19th Century American Literature (with a Teaching Field in Victorian Lit). But, like many other Early Americanists and academics in general, popular culture is one of the main things I like to think and theorize about in my spare time. Of which I have plenty. So, to sum up, I am a Ph.D. student who thinks too much about the television she sees, the books she reads, the movies she watches, and the radio she listens to. Basically, I am a sponge. A sponge with an opinion.
What else? Well, I'm trying to convince myself that writing can be fun if I write about the stuff I like in a format that doesn't intimidate or encourage procrastination. So, here we are. Sure, I could write an academic paper about the things that interest me. Maybe I will. And maybe I'll present it at a conference somewhere and a room full of people will find me very insightful. But until then, I have to start somewhere...
Last night, I celebrated the completion of two friends' dissertations and I wanted to do something to acknowledge the event. I considered greeting cards, floral arrangements, homemade t-shirts, making an concentrated effort to call both of them "The Good Doctor So-and-So-All" night, running around the bar making sure I bought them both beers, blood donations in their names, and finally decided to go old school. Certificiates! Of Achievement! Because, really, when you've achieved something important, there's nothing like a colorful piece of paper acknowledging that you achieved something important. Also, certificates are a reminder of a simpler time, one filled with stickers and smiley face stamps that used to let those of us who were good at school know that, as third graders, we really had some smarts. Graduate school can be difficult for a number of reasons and finishing a dissertation can be hard based on the nature of the project, but sometimes it's the simple things that told us we were good at something that we miss the most, like a certificate telling us we did a good job. I really should have slapped a sticker on my Master's thesis.
