Stupid Girl

I just turned 27. This evidently has not prevented me from making bad, unhealthy decisions. I raise a glass to irresponsibility, irrationality, and the teenage girl that takes residence in my heart.

Blog of the Dumped

It's been one week into single life, and oh! what a weird week this has been.

Some good news:

-I haven't shed a tear since sometime last thursday afternoon.

-I've managed to eat, sleep, and generally function as a regular human being without missing a beat (much).

-I have the best friends in the entire world.

-It's been made clear to me that I evidently won't die a miserable spinster.

-I bought new clothes.

-I can now get a cat.

Some bad, or at least middling, news:

-A few months back, boyfriend had a cut and bled on various parts of my comforter. I now keep seeing his blood everywhere.

-Even though we amicably unfriended each other on Facebook, I still see him comment on other people's posts. It's like a miniature slap in the face every time.

-It depresses me that Facebook had to be a part of our breakup conversation in the first place.

-While it's nice to know that I won't die a miserable spinster, I immediately got asked out by someone who I am very much not interested in.

-I'm turning 27 in 19 minutes and I have to start the whole dating process over again.


All in all, it's not so bad. The fact that I haven't been a total wreck is probably a testament to the state of the relationship.

But the first time I see him with another girl, I may cut a bitch.

Blog of the Dumped

Roughly 13 hours into my unwanted but new found single life, I finally mustered up the energy to get in the shower. You know its bad when your own skin reminds you of the one that broke your heart.

Book Excerpt: The Autobiography of an Execution

From The Autobiography of an Execution, by David R. Dow:

"What [Clarence] Darrow understood is that our system of capital punishment survives because it is built on an evasion. It permits everyone to avoid responsibility. A juror is one of twelve, and therefore the decision is not hers. A judge who imposes a jury's sentence is implementing someone else's will, and therefore the decision is not his. A judge on the court of appeals is one of three, or one of nine, and professes to be constrained by the decision of the finder of fact,and therefore it is someone else's call. Federal judges say it is the state court's decision. The Supreme Court justices simply say nothing, content to permit the machinery of death to grind on with their tacit acquiescence.

Darrow didn't let them hide. He demanded that people who uphold the law take responsibility for their actions, especially when those actions are momentous. I think he was right. Jurors and judges who send someone to the gallows should be required to witness their deed and observe the execution. Every court of appeals judge who upholds a death sentence should have to visit death row and deliver the news personally. Supreme Court justices who refuse to grant a death-row inmate a stay of execution should have to deliver the news face-to-face to the inmate as he waits in the holding cell eight steps down the dank hall from the execution chamber, instead of having one of their law clerks call the inmate's lawyer. If we are going to execute people in our society because we believe that it is an appropriate punishment for people who callously and irresponsibly take another's life, then the people with the power not to execute ought to take responsibility themselves for imposing the punishment, or at least not negating it. It's easier to kill somebody if it's someone else's decision, and if somebody else does the killing. Our death-penalty regime depends for its functionality on moral cowardice."

The Cold War, Literally, or, Why Russians Still Make Me Uncomfortable

Ah, the Olympics. As time goes on, this tradition seems stranger and stranger to me. The Vancouver Olympics has seemed odd from the outset (luger dying, lack of snow in Canada (!), overheard "adult" conversation between Shaun White and manager). These events, particular to this Olympic year, aren't the only things that seem odd. Is biathlon really a relevant sport anymore? Granted, I don't live in any sort of Alpine country, nor do I ski or shoot rifles. However, I caught some of this event this year and could NOT help but laugh. What a fucking strange combination of things to do. Once again...it probably seemed relevant at some point: it's olden times and you live near the Alps so skiing and shooting things was probably a logical way to get sustenance. And who are the Olympic athletes that train their entire lives to win a gold in this event? Is biathlon really someone's passion? Inquiring minds want to know.

I haven't really been keeping tabs on this years Olympics much (other than, once again, dead luger). However, I chose to tune in on exactly the right night: Men's Figure Skating finals. I offer two exhibits as to why Men's Figure Skating is superior to all other Winter Olympic Events:





Yeah thats right! Only in figure skating can you look woeful while wearing glitter snakes wrapped around you! Only in figure skating will you be crowned with roses and look like the Queen of fucking England even if you LOSE!

I mean these things earnestly and not cynically. When I tuned in last night around 10p.m., thinking I was on my way to bed, I got hooked watching a bunch of men in silly costumes skate their heart out for the gold. Just when I thought I'd turn in anyway, Evan Lysacek turned out this spectacular performance. What was I to do? Risk being crabby today for staying up later than I should have? Or risk missing USA win its first Men's Gold since 1988? I chose the former and I'm not even a little sorry I did it.

What is it about the Russians that still instills in me this feeling of uber-competitiveness? Something about growing up in the 80's, watching the Russian Olympians was always scary (particularly their gymnasts look like stern assholes with no soul). It's like all Russians are Ivan Drago, ready to kick your ass and kill your best friend. Today, I'm almost nostalgic for the days when the USA had a clear cut enemy. All our cinematic villains were Russian, our biggest Olympic competitors were Russian, there was a look, and an accent to put on all our fear. Now it seems we're afraid of everyone and everything.

Which is why when Evan Lysacek beat the pants off the Russian returning champ, I felt a thrill, a sense of pride, and a sense of patriotism I haven't felt in years. In all fairness, the Russian had nice eyes and appeared to take the whole thing fine. That is until today, with his medal bashing "you aren't a champion without a quad" bullshit. Evidently you CAN be a champion without a quad. Quality not quantity, so suck it, Russia!

Now that I've completed my obligatory sense of Olympic fever and national pride, I'll end on a classy, modest note:

USA, MOTHERFUCKER!

Truman Capote "Wrote" Some Books That Were "Good"

I'm currently making my way through In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. It's fantastic, a classic piece of literature, genre-bending, etc. All those things they ever say about it, blah blah blah. However, there is something about it I find inappropriately amusing in his technique. Most of the narrative and dialogue comes from interviews with the real folks of Holcomb, Kansas, or the people directly involved with the murder of the Clutter family. Occasionally, Mr. Capote will just write one long direct quote from someone. Other times, he'll write a narrative paragraph, putting certain words or phrases in quotes. An example reads like this:

She was "such a sweet person," so "artistic," a "terrific" dancer...

or

Christ, it was incredible how he could "con a guy." Like the clerk in the Kansas City, Missouri, clothing store, the first of the places Dick had decided to "hit." As for Perry, he'd never tried to "pass a check."

Does this make anyone else giggle? Did the use of such sarcasm not exist in 1965? I can't take these sentences seriously. And I've tried really hard, but when I read sentences like the ones above, I hear myself saying the quoted word or phrase in such a snarky, sarcastic way. It's taking me out of the moment of an otherwise wonderful book.

Mr. Capote should take some "advice" from "me."

The Wild Rumpus

Two moments from Dave Eggers' The Wild Things that I have particularly loved:

"One might think that a boy who was out in the snow for so long would get cold, but Max was not. He was warm, partly because he had on many layers, and partly because boys who are part wolf and part wind do not get cold," p20.


"They were interrupted by Judith and the Bull and Alexander, who were running toward them, each of them blindfolded and carrying a dozen or so tiny cats. They were giggling like lunatics, and ran past Max and Carol and on down the hill, toward the remains of the forest. Max knew he had to follow, had to get himself a blindfold and some tiny cats, so follow he did," p134.

Dusts Off the Old Blog

For those of you who wondered where I was from July until now (and by "those of you" I mean "no one"), here is a brief recap:

-I moved from a tiny apartment to a slightly less tiny apartment.

-School started again and sucked up more time than I cared for (what, with watching hours and hours of Mardy's PowerPoint presentations on Elder Law and Estate Planning)

-I helped plan and attend my sister's bachelorette party and then her subsequent wedding at which I won the award for "Most crying, tattooed Maid Of Honor."

-Fall programming started, and I would rather watch Gossip Girl than think. Or type.

-The holidays (Family Winter Drunkfest 2009).

Now that we're into the most barren part of the year (at least it is in northeastern Ohio)and I've set a few lame-o goals for myself (How many Oscar movies can I see? Can I read 50 books this year?) I figured I'd shine up the blog and start chronicaling some of my adventures in tedium.

Also, I got a Roku Player, so the possibilities are endless!

Adulthood

Adulthood means eating leftover mexican food for breakfast while wearing only a presentable blouse and a pair of boxer briefs, right?

I Love Television

This sentiment may be totally square. There was a long period in my life, during college, that I didn't watch much TV because I was trapped in the bubble called Baldwin-Wallace College. It seemed that when I began emerging from this bubble, I encountered many people who claimed they "didn't watch TV" and they always said it with this air of superiority that didn't sit well with me. I don't necessarily scoff at these folks, because really, the early and mid-2000's were rife with a lot of crap that did seem to want to eat away at your brain (Fear Factor, Wife Swap, Flavor of Love, just to name a few mindless reality gems).

However, when a television show is good, and I mean REALLY good, I would potentially trade it for a quality film or book. A good TV show combines the best of both media: in-depth character development and plot-lines, with visual stimuli. For me, there are four television shows that I hold in higher regard than all others, even though I love a good many more.

My So-Called Life is arguably one of the best teen-oriented dramas to grace the small screen. It's a show completely of its time and place (the 90's, the midwest) and can't be separated from those things. Angela Chase could not have existed today. Granted, it looks a little dated now, but that's part of its charm. For a child of the 90's, looking back feels like a happier, warmer place, a place where the Twin Towers are still standing and Bill Clinton's comfortable drawl lulls us to sleep at night. But MSCL is not, in and of itself, a happy, warm show. It's raw and realistic (except for when it's not, i.e., the Halloween and Christmas episodes) and pulls at your heart because you know an Angela, Rayanne, Patti, Brian, or if you're lucky (or completely unlucky) a Jordan Catalano. Its gritty realism and angst is what earned it a cult following and critical acclaim; it's probably also what got it yanked off the air after only 17 episodes.

Freaks and Geeks has a few parallels to MSCL: a teenage female protagonist who, when we meet her, is shedding who she was for something more subversive; a jilted former best friend; and outcasts no one's parents would trust. However, F&G somehow still doesn't look dated even though it was created in the 90's and set in 1980. There are more laughs, more character development, and more crushing blows to everyone's ego. The painfully real scenes are somehow MORE painfully real (Nick's rendition of "Lady", Lindsey's out of it parents).

Six Feet Under...I have few words for. Its only really weak spots were in Season 4, its the only thing that maybe made me feel even remotely okay about dying, and watching it feels like coming home. Cap it off with the best series finale in the history of time, and SFU is probably my favorite show of all time.

LOST hasn't finished up yet, but there isn't much that could happen in this final season to make me regret my utter enthrallment with the show (unless it's all a dream, or in a snowglobe, or the thoughts of Vincent). LOST watches like the best Stephen King novels read. The characters are all lovable and hateable and as equally developed as the most beloved King characters.

So why the rant about TV? Because I may have just added a fifth show to my list of all-time favorites. When my friend Kat first recommended Friday Night Lights to me I said "What? Really? Football?" But saying FNL is a show about football is like saying LOST is just a show about an island or that MSCL is just a show about a girl with a crush on Jared Leto. Any show could have any of these premises: it's what the writers do with these premises that makes them great. FNL is gritty and intimate. It's a take on slice-of-life, in the way plots enter unceremoniously and occasionally exit unceremoniously. It's a show about characters, in which the town of Dillon plays the starring role. The emotional reactions of the viewer don't usually come from grand gestures or major developments, but from the minutiae of the characters' reactions to things, from a pep talk by Coach Taylor, from small triumphs and defeats.

If you like any of the shows I've listed above, I implore you watch at least the first few episodes of FNL. It's a show about characters, about sad people in a sad town.

I think revisiting Dillon, Texas on my TV may eventually feel like coming home. Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose.