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.