The Election of 2016: Denial

Maybe this makes me a weak person, but, even though I have really, really wanted to several times in the past six months or so, I have not posted much about this election. I think, maybe three people read this blog, I have about 100 friends on Facebook, maybe 8o followers on Twitter, and 0 pinnies or whatever you call people on Pinterest. Bear in mind that several of those people overlap. More than limited reach, though, I realize online, I basically live in an echo chamber. In real life, too. In a lot of ways, I have sought that out. I don’t like arguing, I’m socially pretty liberal except in a few core issues where I’m not. I’m not going to go into that that here, though.

What matters for me is that I voted, and I am 100% confident in my vote. No regrets. YOLO. I do not intend to say who I voted for, but you, my three readers, can probably guess, and guess correctly.

In a matter of hours, we will have elected a new President. On January 20, we will have a new President. We, as a nation, should be proud that, in over 225 years, our electoral process, flawed as it is, has been about 98% successful at peacefully handing over the reins of power, often to those promoting differing ideologies.

(The preceding was written early on the evening of Tuesday, November 8, 2016. What follows is…basically, what followed.)

Hilary. I voted for Hilary Clinton. (inconsolable sobbing) I was with her before it was cool, way back in 2006. (end sobbing, cue three days of anger) WTF. WTFF.

As I hunt and peck out these words, about seven weeks have passed since Election Night. I feel like it is already a cliche to compare my feelings to those of someone mourning  a loved one. But, I’ma do it anyway.

DENIAL – No. No way. How…? What the…? How the…? WHAT?! There must be some kind of mistake. Did we count the absentees? Are you sure? This can’t be. Maybe I’ll just go to sleep now, and, when I wake up, everything will have changed.

For me, this stage lasted a little under 24 hours. For others, it lasted way longer.

It didn’t quite work, Chris Suprun and Texas’s other faithless elector notwithstanding.

And, poor Keith Olbermann is still in the thick of it.

I applaud his passion, but is it just me, or does it feel like he’s trying to make fetch happen? (It’s not going to happen.) Frankly, I’m not sure if I want it to happen.

I am thinking a lot about our nation. I am no Pangloss (full disclosure: never read Candide) but I kinda like our Constitution. I like how it starts big – “We the People,” as opposed to, say “some guys” – and leaves room for improvement  – “a more perfect union” instead of “the most amazing union EVER!!!!! We totally know what we’re talking about, and things should stay the same 4EVAR. FRAMERS 4 LIFE!!!1!! Suck it Patrick Henry!! These are the good ol days people will talk about for the next 229+ years, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility etc.” Bill of Rights? Big fan. I love the way, once in awhile, we realize that things kinda suck for some people, and we should fix that. Let’s make it official.

But, I don’t quite get the Electoral College. Actually, I didn’t realize until quite recently that Electors were people. (Apologies to  all my Social Studies, Civics, and American History teachers.) For the longest time, I just assumed each state was given x electoral votes which went to whichever candidate won the state, except for Maine and Nebraska, which divide theirs proportionally – which, by the bye, makes so much more sense to me. But, no – turns out there are actual Electors walking among us, much like the Regents from the Board of Regents of the University of the State of New York, if you are in the State of New York.

Every four years, we are not voting for President; technically, we are voting for who we trust to vote for the next President. Or, more accurate to contemporary politics, we are suggesting to an independent person we may not know and who has no real obligation to us who we think they should vote for. Which kinda makes sense but also kinda sucks.

So, if this sucks, what is the alternative?

What I hear most seems to be to do away with the electoral college completely. I guess, then, we would only have the popular vote to consider. I can’t help but find that plan unfeasible, or at least impractical. Take the 2016 Presidential election (…please). According to Politico, there were over 200 million registered voters. David Wasserman at The Cook Political Report counted 136,628,459 votes as of December 15, Clinton leading the popular vote by over two million, or about 2% of the voting population, or roughly the city of Chicago.

That’s kinda a close. But, not as close as the 1960 election between John F Kennedy and Richard Nixon. Kennedy won the plurality by .1% of the vote. Applied to the 2016 election, that is approximately the population of Miramar, FL.

Unfounded speculation notwithstanding, I do not believe there was large-scale fraud on Election Day 2016. As heartbroken as I am, I do believe that enough people in enough concentration voted for a sociopathic, narcissistic, misogynistic, pandering penis wrinkle who wanted to be President the same way some children want to be a princess, or a pirate, or a bear. But, could you imagine if President-elect Princess-Pirate-Bear were correct, and due to shenanigans in Miramar, FL, there was some massive SNAFU in the election count? Only, the residents of Miramar, instead of being localized to their charming corner of Broward County, were spread out across the United States, wreaking havoc on the democratic process. If there were a problem with tabulating the popular vote, I just think our nation of 308 million is a mite too vast to try to pinpoint which 136,000 votes caused the discrepancy.

So, is the Electoral College a reasonable method for national elections? I honestly don’t know. I am not an electorologist. The fine folks at 270towin postulated different outcomes, depending on five alternate electoral methods, compared to the actual outcome. In four out of the five, Princess Pirate Bear still walks away with the Presidency; in the fifth, where electoral votes are allocated based solely on popular vote percentages, while still winning one more vote than Clinton, due to the success of third party candidates in a handful of states, it would have been just under the 270 needed to guarantee the presidency, leaving the decision up to the House of Representatives, like Alexander Hamilton and James Madison intended.

This, of course, discounts the possibility of faithless electors, as well as campaign strategies. Even President-elect Penis Wrinkle admits he would have changed his strategy to pursue the plurality if that would have won the election. But, it doesn’t. So, his team focused on what mattered in the battleground states. Clinton won the popularity contest. All of us who voted for her can pat ourselves on the back for not supporting the sociopathic, narcissistic, misogynistic, pandering penis wrinkle du jour. But, we – voters, volunteers, campaign staff, all the way up to HRC – failed to take into account what matters most to a significant chunk, nearly half, of the voting population.

And, that is a failure. That is what I have been trying to deny for the past two months. I can blame others, I can look for loopholes. But, until I am ready to accept my own blindness in my safe little echo chamber, I am still in denial.

 

 

On Death and Dying

(This was originally written a year ago, circa Christmas 2015. But, I never got around to editing it, so I never posted it. I made a few updates, but much of this still applies.)

This was the year I started thinking about dying in earnest. Don’t worry, I’m not planning to off myself, and I didn’t get any personal health bombshells. Although I am overweight, at my last physical, I was given a clean bill of health. I am particularly proud of my blood pressure; since I am a huge fan of personal space, and I don’t appreciate most touch, my heart rate tends to quicken during that part of my annual checkups. But, anyway, I just started thinking about my death.

I guess a lot of people will occasionally “fantasize” about their death, not necessarily in a morbid way. Maybe somewhat vengeful. (“They’ll be sorry when I’m gone!”) But, I think, more often in a self-reflective way. I know I wonder what people will think and say over me at my funeral. I flatter myself by thinking there will be some tears, as people think about what small kindnesses I have performed. And, let’s be honest, in the grand scheme of things, they were pretty small. To my knowledge, I have not saved anyone from death, poverty, or ignominy. (If you feel I have saved you from any of these three things, please comment below!) But, I have made people laugh, I have given gifts, I have said some kind words at opportune times. So, while I’m probably not anyone’s hero, I think I’m a nice person.

At this point, I start thinking about my my funeral service. This is, basically, my last creative, expressive statement. I guess this is where my fantasy self takes over. I don’t think I want flowers, but I do want a few Mylar balloons spread throughout the room. (At first, I wanted latex balloons, but then I remembered that they are choking hazards.) I want coffee, tea, biscuits, and jam. I want someone like Bruce Campbell or Joss Whedon to stand quietly in the back of the room. He can sign autographs, but, mostly, I just want him to stand there stoically and then slip out at the end. I don’t know Bruce Campbell or Joss Whedon personally, but I would like to leave my loved ones with a final funny, enigmatic story about me. Ooh, but I did go to school with Lin Manuel Miranda, so maybe someone could look him up? When the time comes. It being my dying wish and all.

And, my remains? Donated to medicine or research. Yes, some of the things that happen to those bodies seem…insensitive. But, hey, I’m super-dead, and it’s not like my family will know what, specifically, will happen to my remains. In fact, if asked, they should be lied to. Tell them my organs went to help various orphans. Or, I’m being used to test viable space travel. But, not one of the times when the space shuttle explodes. Make it a nice lie. If they ask; I doubt they will. Would you really want to know? In actuality, I will probably be stripped down to parts, to be pummeled, sliced, or burned to a crisp. And, I’m okay with that because, and I can’t stress this enough, I’m super-dead. And, what’s more important, while I may not have saved any lives when I was alive, I actually do take comfort in knowing that, in death, researchers can can learn how to make cars or armor or even shoes safer for others; by cutting into my flesh, doctors can better learn how to save someone else’s life or livelihood. And, yeah, maybe my head will actually be used to practice eyelid tucks…but wouldn’t you rather have your eyelids tucked by someone who’s practiced on real eyelids?

 

Thought Experiment: Casting Good Omens

Some things I am:

A reader

A voracious reader, to be more accurate, if not more literal. Do I eat books? No. No, not anymore.

Don’t judge me

Do I have a bookcase of books I love and re-read? Do I have secondary shelves of books I keep for reference, for aesthetics, or for sentimental value? Do I have a tertiary shelf for books to read in the bathroom? Do I carry a minimum of one book and one periodical at all times, not counting my Kindle? Have I been known to smuggle books into restaurants, shows, parties, and religious rites? The answer to all these questions is Yes, of course, who doesn’t.

A cinephile

I love watching movies (also television). One might say I was raised by television (and movies). One might blog about it.

An introvert

I can be quiet for long stretches of time. New friends, especially expert party-throwers, sometimes think this quiet means I am having no fun. Usually, the opposite is true. When I can find a quiet corner to think, it means I feel comfortable. What am I thinking about? Lots of things, nothing in particular, all the things, purple. If you’re curious, and you’re patient, I will usually just blurt something out when I need to hear how it sounds.

So what happens when these powers combine during a long car ride with my bestie? We form the dream cast for the big screen adaptation of Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett’s Good Omens. Someone get the BBC on the line and tell them to take off their fancy hats because minds will be blown.

(I specifically mention BBC instead of Hollywood because most of the actors I will name are British, and most of the action in Good Omens takes place in England.

Also, I limit myself to speaking roles only. Sorry, God.)

Metatron (The Voice of God) Ralph Fiennes

Beelzebub (A Fallen Angel and Prince of Hell) also Ralph Fiennes, but using a buggy voice filter

DEATH Jason Statham

Those first three are really voice roles. Now, for pictures!

John Oliver as Aziraphale, an Angel and part-time rare book dealer

father and son Brendan and Domhnall Gleeson as Ligur and Hastur, Dukes of Hell

Benedict Cumberbatch as Crowley, and Angel who did not so much Fall as saunter vaguely downwards

Emma Stone as War

Lee Sun Kyun, Korean TV and film actor, as Famine. I’d also accept Michael Fassbender.

Dominic Monaghan as Pollution

Emily Mortimer as Agnes Nutter, a Prophetess

Nicholas Hoult as Newton Pulsifer, Wages Clerk and Witchfinder Private

Georgie Henley as Anathema Device, Professional Descendent

Billy Connolly as Shadwell, Witchfinder Sergeant

Julie Walters as Madam Tracy, Painted Jezebel and Medium

Shaun Dingwall as Mr Young, a Father

Rowan Atkinson as Mr Tyler, Chairman of a Residents Association

Timothy Spall as a Delivery Man

Then, there are the Them: Adam (the Antichrist) and his mates Pepper, Wensleydale, and Brian. But, as the Them are eleven, and children have the annoying habit of growing up, I will settle for four relative unknowns found during the open casting call.

I don’t know about you, but I would definitely pay good money to watch this.

The Runaway Lamb

During naptime, one of my students was having difficulty sleeping, so he asked me to make up a story about a lamb. (His naptime lovey is a sheep blanket named Lamby.) He really liked it, so I wrote it down.

 

Once upon a time, there was a little lamb, named Lamby. This lamb was very proud of her woolly, fleecy, curly, white coat. She was so proud of her coat, she did not play with the other sheep for fear of getting it dirty or mussed.

One fine, hot summer day, the farmer brought a dog to find and gather the sheep. Lamby did not like the looks of this dog with the loud bark and patchwork coat, running around, chasing the other sheep. The lamb crept away from the rest of the herd, closer to the fence.

Lamby peeked back at the other sheep. The farmer was coming toward them. Thank goodness! He would make that loud and wild dog mind his manners.

But, Lamby was shocked to see the farmer grab the nearest sheep. In his hand, he carried an electric razor that glinted in the bright summer sun. The lamb did not know what the razor did at first, but she was terrified when he saw that, wherever the farmer dragged the razor across the sheep’s back and sides, clumps of fluffy white wool would fall to their feet, until that sheep was nearly bald. Then, the farmer grabbed another sheep and repeated the process.

Lamby was frozen in fear and indignation. Gradually, she noticed the loud dog was loping closer to him. Afraid of the dog, and afraid of the razor, that little woolly lamb squeezed under the fence. She was only mildly distressed to note that some the bottom of her wonderful coat had got dusty where her belly had scraped the dirt under the fence.

The woolly lamb crept quickly into the forest to escape that awful dog. Some brambles and thorns tugged at her coat, but she was determined to escape the shaving madness that had overtaken the farmer.

After a while, Lamby grew hungry. The tall trees did not allow much grass to grow on the forest floor, but the lamb came across a blackberry bush. How delicious those berries smelled to the lost and hungry lamb! She dug right in, as deep as she could manage, trying to get her fill of blackberries. As she eventually backed out after eating nearly all the berries, she realized she had got some of the sticky blackberry juices into her beautiful white coat.

Lamby trotted farther along, in search of some water to wash away the blackberry stains and to take a deep drink. For the days had grown progressively warmer, and the lamb was becoming uncomfortably aware that this summer day was the warmest yet. When the lamb heard the trickling sounds of a nearby stream, she ran right toward it, without noticing the mud along the banks until she tripped on a slippery rock and fell right in!

Feeling rather foolish, Lamby made her way out of the stream, slipping once or twice on some rocks and getting even muddier. The water weighed down her woolly coat, and it was now much harder to walk.

Lamby started to feel tired. She saw a shady spot under a bush and crawled in to rest.

Suddenly, Lamby heard an awful racket. It was the barking of the dog! How had that awful animal followed her so deep into the forest? The lamb stood up and tried to run, but her curly coat had got tangled in the branches of the bush.

Lamby began to bleat, in fear from the dog, in frustration from her struggles, and in pain from the branches tugging at her fur. Of course, with all the fuss the little lamb made, the dog had no trouble tracking her down to the bush.

The dog gave a loud, sharp WOOF and crept closer to the lamb. The lamb tried to creep deeper into the bush, but there was nowhere left for the lamb to go. Expecting a snap from the dog’s sharp teeth, Lamby closed her eyes…

But, the dog only gave Lamby some gentle licks, trying to wash some of the blackberry juice off the lamb’s face.

Soon, the farmer found the dog and lamb. The farmer carefully removed Lamby from the bush. He carried the little lamb home, and gently washed its wool coat. And, yes, the farmer did shave all of the once-sticky, once-wet, once-tangled wool off the little lamb.

But, Lamby was surprised to find that her new bare back felt delightfully cool in the summer breeze. No longer afraid of mussing her pristine coat, the lamb started playing more with the other sheep, who loved hearing her thrilling tales of life in the forest. Lamby especially enjoyed being chased by the dog, now knowing that the dog was there to care for the sheep, not to scare them.

 

WWMegRyanD?

I have been let go. Is that the correct phrase for when the company you work for goes out of business? In any case, I am not too concerned (anymore) since I have received at least one job offer, and it looks like another is pending. Basically, by mid-month I will have started a new job. I just can’t decide which one.

It feels a little like the occupational equivalent of a romantic comedy. Job A feels right, it just does; everything seemed to click right away, from my interview with the Director, to the tour of the facility, to meeting with the rest of the staff. Job B is more sensible and has a much better overall benefits package. Not to mention, it’s more similar to my previous job, so there’s a certain level of familiarity and comfort. According to all the Laws of RomCom, I’m going to end up at Job A.

But, if being a single lass in her 30s writing a blog about, amongst other things, being a single lass in her 30s has taught me anything, it’s not to trust romantic comedies. What follows is a list of romantic comedies where, maybe, our Heroine should have reconsidered the Baxter. (By the way, love the movie The Baxter.) Spoilers ahead, if you’ve never seen a romantic comedy before.

Sleepless in Seattle(1993)

Ah, Sleepless in Seattle. After 30 years, it holds a significant place in the careers of Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. Individually, they give winsome performances; when they finally meet, you can just tell this is the beginning of something wonderful. Or, alternately, this:

Poor Bill Pullman. One second, Ryan and Pullman are picking out china patterns. The next, she is on a plane to the other side of the country to look for a man she has never spoken to, unless you count the letter ghostwritten by his eight-year-old son, who, by the way, decides to choose his next mommy based on her interest in baseball. Though Ryan experiences a moment of clarity midway through the film when she realizes, maybe she should find someone on the East Coast without emotional baggage and a meddlesome second-grader to start a relationship with, she ultimately leaves her handsome, successful fiancé who only wants her to be happy. On Valentine’s Day.

Serendipity (2001)

Despite a tried-and-true leading man (John Cusak) and an up-and-coming leading lady (Kate Beckinsale) Serendipity flopped spectacularly. Like all the other other men on this list (and, in this case, other women) there is nothing wrong with Cusak’s or Beckinsale’s respective fiancés. They do not kick puppies or support white supremacist groups. They don’t even seem particularly bland. They just had the misfortune of not sharing one particular, special day with the protagonists. By the end of Cusak’s wedding day, though they had barely thought of each other in the past several years, Beckinsale leaves the handsome, romantic musician for the man she met once at Macy’s who, at the time, she did not think was worth the scrap of paper she had written her phone number on.

Something’s Gotta Give (2003)

Playing a successful playwright “of a certain age,” Diane Keaton seems, generally, to make responsible relationship decisions. Though divorced, she maintains an amicable professional relationship with her ex-husband and even shares a friendly meal celebrating his engagement to his much-younger fiancée. She flirts with and eventually has a brief affair with businessman/playboy Jack Nicholson, before he leaves her to continue exclusively dating women under 30. She uses this heartbreak to inspire her latest hit Broadway play and begins dating handsome, successful doctor Keanu Reeves. She spends her birthday in Paris with young Dr Reeves, when she is surprised by Nicholson who admits his love for her. Although she leaves momentarily with Reeves, she goes back to Nicholson, whom she marries within a year. So, despite major character themes revolving around men coupling with women 25-40 years their junior, women, regardless of age (except, funny enough, doctors) cannot resist Nicholson. Heart attacks may weaken other men, but they only make Nicholson sexier.

 

Bear in mind, this isn’t 1969 Jack Nicholson

this is Jack Nicholson c2003.

Enchanted (2007)

Lost princess Amy Addams must choose between Prince Charming and a bitter divorce attorney who doesn’t believe in love. Guess how this love story ends. Sure, Patrick Dempsey is the first person to make Addams really angry or get her cartoon lady bits all worked up. But, come on. I’m sure that Prince James Marsden, all romantic and earnest and blunt as a sock full of sand, would, at some point, infuriate and titillate just about any hot-blooded heterosexual female. Like all the films on this list, despite how everything adds up on paper, our heroine decides to dump Mr Handsome and Successful for Mr Emotional Baggage. Of course, we must assume that, in the end, TRUE LOVE PREVAILS.

 

After a lot of thought, even I know I will end up dumping the Tried and True in favor of the New and Exciting. Maybe that’s what the heroine in a romantic comedy is really looking for. Not necessarily a happily ever after (which always sounded a bit dull to me) but a new adventure.

Wish me luck.

In which I express admiration for Theodore Roosevelt

I’ve been thinking a lot about Theodore Roosevelt lately, and how much of a badass he was. He was the Chuck Norris of US Presidents. Actually, let’s be frank: Chuck Norris is the Theodore Roosevelt of not-Presidents.

FACT: Theodore Roosevelt struggled with asthma as a child…and won.

FACT: Some riverboat thieves decided to steal Theodore Roosevelt’s riverboat. So, he tracked them down. But, Theodore Roosevelt is no vigilante: Instead of hanging them then and there, he stayed awake for 40 hours to lead them, single-handedly, back home to face trial. And, during that time, he read Tolstoy.

FACT: As New York City Police Commissioner, he cleaned up the streets, personally. He once apprehended a criminal on his way home from a party, wearing a top hat. A frickin top hat.

FACT: Theodore Roosevelt’s political enemies elected him to Vice President to keep him quiet. Three years later: That’s President Roosevelt to you.

FACT: Theodore Roosevelt, at his 1905 inauguration, became the only US President not to use the word “I” in his speech. He didn’t need to.

FACT: Theodore Roosevelt used his jujutsu skills to negotiate the end of the Russo-Japanese War.

FACT: When Colombia wouldn’t let the US build a canal, Theodore Roosevelt made Panama.

FACT: Theodore Roosevelt was the first President to drive his own car, go up in an airplane and go down in a submarine. (He also drove the sub for awhile underwater.)

FACT: Theodore Roosevelt was shot in the chest before giving a campaign speech. The bullet tore through his eyeglass case and his 50-page speech before lodging in three inches of muscle. He gave his speech anyway, from memory, being interrupted several times to be asked to leave the stage because FOR THE LOVE OF GOD HE HAD JUST BEEN SHOT!

FACT: Theodore Roosevelt lived another six and a half years with the bullet still in his chest.

FACT: Edwin Schrank, his would-be assassin later admitted, “Roosevelt was a good man and a good president.”

FACT: Explored the River of Doubt in Brazil. It’s now called the Rio Roosevelt.

FACT: To quote then Vice President Thomas Marshall: “Death had to take Roosevelt sleeping, for if he had been awake, there would have been a fight.” Damn skippy.

FACT: Theodore Roosevelt was so mighty, he was awarded the Medal of Honor 82 years after his death. (He’s the only President to be awarded both the Medal of Honor and the Nobel Peace Prize.)

Theodore Roosevelt, Presidential badass

Lame End of Year Post of 2012

All my dream jobs involve me not having to dress up in the morning. While this doesn’t mean that I don’t like to dress up occasionally. 90% of the time, I would just roll out of bed and earn my bacon in my cow jammies. But, once a month or so, I would also get to wow the upper-ups in a jewel-toned blouse and pencil skirt, a tasteful necklace and maybe even (gasp) eye make-up.

This, of course, assumes me being fairly successful at what I do. I would not have to be a rock star in my field, but hopefully, I could make a living income.

So, what do I want to be when I grow up? An actress, a director, a writer (plays, screenplays, the Great American Novel, whatever), a radio deejay or a voice actor. I’m pretty sure I’d fail spectacularly at any of these jobs….Except, sometimes, when I read certain books, I’m reminded about how awesome it is to write. So, maybe I’m a writer at heart, even if I never really make a career of it.

But, that’s not how I feel now. Right now, I’m staring at the screen, and even as I type these letters, I’m thinking…blah blah blah nothing blah blah this tree is shiny. (I haven’t yet taken down my Christmas tree.)

It’s writers block. Or maybe just writers ennui. Actually, there are a bunch of things I want to write, but none of them are blog-related. But, I have this little resolution that I’ve been trying to keep. It’s not difficult, and I’ve been pretty good about it so far. It’s in several parts.

Part One: 10:00am – 2:00pm on any weekday when I do not have to go to work are reserved for writing.

Part Two: During any personal days from work, I have to post to this blog.

Part Three: Once you have posted to your blog, get started on the next blog post.

Part Four: PARTY! (Actually, research into one of the million and one other writing ideas I have.)

So, I’ve decided to cop out on Part Three by dedicating this (super short) post to how I don’t really have anything to write about. Now, it’s time to party/research into one of the million and one other writing projects I have.

 

Happy New Year!

Things of 2012

It’s that time of year when blogs and magazines comment on how it’s that time of year when blogs and magazines make their end of year lists. The Best/Worst/Most Surprising/Disappointing Things/People/Actions of 2012.

Personally, my life feels like a monotonous, though pleasant, series of moments. Whenever something happens to break the routine, just by its being different, I tend to think of it as the Best or Worst thing while it lasts. So, without rank and a teensy of reason, I thought I would list a bunch of Things of 2012. To exercise my descriptive muscles, I may try to give them each some superlative title.

Most Significant Personal Change I moved into my own apartment. That was new.

Most Insignificant Thing That I Did Not Change I thought about cutting my hair this summer, but decided against it.

Movie I Changed My Mind About Most Often I was not planning to go see Cabin in the Woods at all. I knew it was supposed to be about all the awesome slasher films where a group of teens blah blah TWIST blah blah bathed in blood…which isn’t really my thing. So, sorry Mr Whedon, although I’m sure it’s awesome, I’ll just have to pass this once. But, then, I read review after review of “ZOMG BEST MOVIE EVAR!!! NO WAY TO TALK ABOUT THIS MOVIE WITHOUT SPOILERS. YOU MUST WATCH THIS MOVIE!!!”  So I decided to watch the movie anyway. And, it was good. But, the ending pissed me off. So, while I was glad I saw it, I didn’t think I needed to see it again. But, after watching Avengers and reading tons of articles about Joss Whedon which invariably compared the two films, I started thinking about it. And, while I still disagree with the ending, I really enjoyed the rest of the film. I may have to own it.

Most Disappointing Decision That Actually Kind of Shows How I’m a Grown Up I realized I couldn’t afford to go to San Diego Comic Con and move into my new apartment. So, rather than deciding to hitchhike and couchsurf my way to the first and last days of SDCC, I decided to hire movers. I think I made the right decision.

Most Annoying New Habit I’ve started watching Korean dramas. I am in the midst of my third series. (It appears most Korean shows are like the first season of 24, in that they are supposed to unfold during the course of a single season, with a clear beginning and a clear narrative end.) Given the slightest opening (like a pause in conversation) I will talk about any or all of these shows and how they need to be adapted for US audiences right now. I don’t know how Syfy will package a show about a mythical Korean spirit called a Gumiho (nine-tailed fox) that falls in love with a spoiled college-aged orphan who dreams of being an action star, but I know they should call it Foxy Lady (original title, translated: My Girlfriend Is a Nine-Tailed Fox). I know my friends don’t care, but I just can’t stop myself.

Smuggest Achievement On average, since moving, I have been biking an hour, uphill, to work two or three times a week. I also bike about 40 minutes down hill from work as often, but that doesn’t seem as impressive.

Secondest Smuggest Achievement Lost 10 pounds. Boo-yah.

Thing I Most Can’t Believe I Cried Over I’ve been re-watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Sometime this summer I saw “The Body.” It (the crying, not the episode) was bad, and I discovered that one of the perks of living alone is no one is around to see you cry for embarrassing reasons.

Most Melodramatic Personal Statement I have decided that I will die alone, and I’m okay with that.

New Show That I Am Most Surprised I Like That Will Probably Get Cancelled Next Year Go On, starring Matthew Perry. Yeah, they have so many Characters, you couldn’t possibly care about them all. Then, suddenly, one of them will have a Moment, and you’re all Aww. Kind of like the first few episodes of Community.

Thing I Most Wish The Mindy Project Would Change I hate the theme song. It makes me want to stab something.

And, it’s not long enough for the 30-second skip on my DVR. I end up missing the first few lines when the show resumes. I hate that. How I Met Your Mother and 30 Rock also do that, but I find their theme songs kinda catchy.

Thing I Miss Most About Verizon FiOS  It’s not the high speed of their Internet. I’m the only one who uses my Internet, and I’m in no rush. I miss the 10-second rewind on the DVR. The 6-second rewind on the DirecTV, after taking into account reaction time, basically means I’m replaying the same two seconds of whatever I’m watching over and over again, so it’s uselesss. I hate it.

Happy New Chanukwanzabaktumastivustice-giving de Los Reyes!

Metropolis

As I write these words, Hurricane Sandy is doing his or her (I’ve known boy and girl Sandys) thang outside. Work is cancelled, for today and probably tomorrow. Metro is shut down.  My bathtub is full of water so I can flush the toilet on my terms. I have prepared a bunker in case the wind knocks a tree branch through the sliding glass doors of my studio apartment. Ooh, just glanced outside, and the rain is coming in sideways.

I miss my roommates.

Now, they are not too far away, just over the river a bit. But, with no car, no public transport, and winds gusting at 35 mph, I miss chatting.

I tried to meet my neighbors over the summer. I baked chocolate chip cookies, bagged them up and walked door to door.

Lefthand Neighbor Lives just on the other side of the trash chute, so I’ve seen her come and go a couple times. She wasn’t in when I stopped by with the cookies, so I left them on her step with a note. A day or two later, the cookies were gone, but the note was still taped to her door. I think she may have moved since then. Someone else may have moved in.

Righthand Neighbor I think a couple lives here. And, for about a weekend, a small dog. No one was in during my Cookie Walk, so I left the cookies and a note here, too. Several days later, both cookies and note were still in the hall, so I threw them away. I get the feeling they may have been out of town.

Across the Hall and Slightly to the Left Neighbor I definitely rode in the elevator and walked down the hall with a guy who went into this apartment. Not in when I called. Left the cookies and note. Both were gone by the next day.

Across the Hall and Slightly to the Right Neighbor Not in at the time of the Cookie visit. Left my customary note. A few days later, he left a note at my door, thanking me for the cookies.

Upstairs Neighbor The only one who was in. I think his name was Jeff or Josh. Anywho, apparently, he had also just moved into the building in the past month. I have not seen him since, although he has invited me to let him know if he’s ever too loud in his apartment.

Downstairs Neighbor Wasn’t in, although I think I heard a small dog run to the door. Left the cookies and note. I spent the rest of the afternoon tidying my apartment. The next time I opened my door, he had left a thank-you note on my door. I don’t know why he didn’t knock to see if I was in first.

So, those are my neighbors. I don’t know any of them.

By now, Hurricane Sandy has moved up the coast. The wind has died down significantly, and I believe it has stopped raining. The Metro is still not running, but I might take a walk, lest the cabin fever take me.

That actually doesn’t seem so bad.

I’m 30 Years Old, Dagnabbit

I’m 30. Let me rephrase: I am thirty and one half years old. Sometimes, I can’t help but read that as “I am…old.”

I am a disarmingly competitive person, but at the stupidest things. For example, when I am attempting to cook a new recipe, and the outcome looks at all like the picture, I think (or, if I am alone, I sometimes say it out loud) “Ha! Take that, mushrooms stuffed with pine nuts and sun-dried tomatoes! You think you’re so cool, but I figured out how to make you. I own you now. I OWN YOU!” That’s right: In my mind, the recipe, just by existing in written form, where I could see it, issued some kind of challenge which I totally crushed. The disarming comes from me being, generally, a pretty easy-going person who avoids confrontation. I consider this a tactic in lulling the challenger (or inanimate object) into a false sense of security before I bring the pain.

So, at the grey old age of thirty, I cannot help but look at some of the other people in this world and admit defeat, horrible, crippling defeat.

Matt Damon won a Best Original Screenplay Oscar, along with his buddy Ben Affleck. When they were, like 25 years old. At 25, I was living in someone else’s house and didn’t have a drivers license.

Donald Glover is a successful writer, actor and musician, recording and touring under the name Childish Gambino. And, he is only 28. When I was 28…well, 28 was a lot like 25. Oh my God, I just did some random googling, and Jonah Hill is younger than I am, too. What am I doing wrong with my life?

Anne Shirley saved a toddler’s life when she was eleven. Then, she got her teacher’s license at sixteen. She was a high school principal, and a published short story writer throughout her twenties before settling down to marry Gilbert Blythe and have her own children.

Yes, I know Anne Shirley shouldn’t count because she lived in the Nineteenth Century in Canada and is the fictional heroine of LM Montgomery’s celebrated Anne of Green Gables series. But…

Annie Oakley had paid off the mortgage on her mother’s farm using her mad sharpshooting skills by the age of 15. At that age, I still hadn’t won any trophies for my high school Speech Team. Then, she married Frank Butler and was touring the country with Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show in her mid-twenties.

Or, to make me feel really bad about myself:

Vivian Chau started Give It Fresh Today (GIFT) which collects produce donations from local (if you’re in Honolulu) farmers markets to distribute to organizations that feed the homeless.
Hari Kondabolu is a stand-up comedian who has appeared on Jimmy Kimmel Live, John Oliver’s New York Standup Show (thrice) as well as his own Comedy Central Presents half-hour special. He is also a writer for FX’s Totally Biased with W Kamau Bell. I went to a taping of the show yesterday. It was hilarious.
Matt Lerner developed and founded the Spotlight Program, which “fosters the development of social-emotional competence and confidence” for “youth with Asperger’s Syndrome, PDD-NOS, High Functioning Autism, ADD/ADHD, Anxiety, Mood Disorders and other related diagnoses.”
Lin Manuel Miranda won a Tony Award for Best Score for the musical he first developed in college, In the Heights. He was also nominated for Best Leading Actor in a Musical because he (obviously) starred in it. All told, In the Heights won four Tonys that year and is now touring. He also did this:

I went to school with these people.

Plus, I am starting to notice that the children who I work with have parents who are my age. When I see these happy families, I can’t help but think, “What am I doing with my life?” Should I have kids, and a mortgage, and a drivers license (because, no, I still can’t drive)? Maybe I should adopt a dog with personality.

No, I don’t want a dog. Not for keeps, anyway. I could play with a dog gladly, but I don’t want to buy it food and toys and vaccines and things.

So, maybe I’m not ready to have kids or settle down. Or win prestigious awards. Or be famous. Or help people. But, I finally have my own apartment, and a bike, and a SmarTrip card. My life, as it is, will do. For now.