No resolve?

This bright and balmy new year, I've formulated precisely no resolutions. Since I'm nearly positive that I've never actually stuck with a resolution in the past, it doesn't seem like much of a loss. Besides, my resolution is usually to workout and get fit (always with an eye on the scale) - a fitness overhaul type of thing, and something that doesn't exactly mesh with pregnancy. 

I traditionally detest New Year's, as rather than looking forward, I typically look back at all those things I have failed to accomplished in the past year (including my failed resolution). That doesn't make for the happiest of moods. 

Plus, we have a tradition of doing a whole-lot-of-nothing-exciting on New Year's Eve - that is, Brad, my mom, and I sit in her living room watching TV or a movie until about 15 minutes before the countdown when we turn to Dick Clark's Rockin' Eve; rip on the people crowding Times Square ("Why would you ever want to go there?!"); gasp at the inane awfulness of the music being performed (last night we were horrified by Lady Gaga); and then watch the ball drop. 

To be clear, I haven't resolved to not-resolve or anything so hipster as that. It's only that nothing particular springs to mind on this here New Year's Day, perhaps b/c the past few months/weeks/days have been so chaotic that I haven't had 35 seconds to even think in peace and silence. 

And believe me, it's not like there aren't areas in which I could use some improving - there are aplenty. I can think of a number of proclamations I could (and possibly should) be making. For instance: 

Write more fiction. 
Read more. 
Be less judgmental. 
Go to church more. 
Keep a cleaner house. 
Learn to meditate. 

These are all good resolutions, and they're all things I want to do. 

Even so, I haven't been bitten by the resolution bug for whatever reason. (I don't think I made any resolutions last year either.) In the face of my 2012 non-resolution-ness, I think maybe I'll just keep an open mind and try to work daily on improvement. Whatever that means at a given moment, even if it's something small. 

So, if "improving in general" counts as a legit, true-blue resolution, then call me resolved. If not, well, then that's okay, too.

Go ahead, rent Horrible Bosses

So b/c Brad is a Netflix slacker (i.e., he takes 3 days to send already-watched DVDs back), thus we didn't get two more discs of Law & Order season 8 in the mail today; and b/c I slept like crap and then had to spend the day on campus, thus resulting in super low motivation to do work tonight; we rented and watched Horrible Bosses by the light of the Christmas tree (well, and a lamp). 

We both had relatively low expectations, but, I'm pleased to say, it was actually pretty darn funny. Not think-of-it-5-days-later-and-start-randomly-cracking-up funny, but funny enough that one of us laughed at least every 4 minutes. Which isn't too bad at all, considering that most comedies are mildly disappointing at best. 

(It should be noted that Brad's claim that I "hate laughter" - simply b/c I always reject watching funny movies/shows in favor of dramas - is patently untrue: I spend a good part of every day laughing at people. So there.) 

The best part of the movie was the fact that a bunch of the minor characters were really famous actors - Kevin Spacey, Jennifer Aniston, Colin Farrell, Jamie Foxx (who was soooooo funny) - and the characters they played were pretty darn humorous. Plus it was fast-paced, and who doesn't love Jason Bateman?! 

Now, this movie is certainly no The Hangover or Dodgeball or Wedding Crashers, but it is a good Friday night $1 pick (gotta love Redbox). It has successfully withstood our "No More Wasting Our Lives on Crappy TV/Movies," a policy we instituted (and have basically stuck with since) this summer after one too many horrid time-wasters from Netflix streaming. The basic gist: if you'd like a light-hearted laugher, drop a dollar and you'll even get to see Bunk from The Wire fame.

Why I love Bob Costas

As if his years of stellar - and hilarious - Olympic coverage and the fact that he hasn't aged in 20 years weren't sufficient, tonight on Monday Night Football, Steelers vs. Chiefs, Bob Costas busted out the following line: 

"We live in a culture that in many ways grows more stupid and graceless by the minute . . . . " 

The man's got his finger on the pulse of America. 

My boy Costas then continued by commenting on the absurd, obnoxious, ridiculous celebrations that go on in the NFL end zone or after a sack, etc., a critique with which I could not agree anymore whole-heartedly (and I'm guessing most NFL fans are with me). 

Before closing, Costas offered another gem, saying, "Hey knuckleheads, is it too much to ask that you confine your buffoonery to situations that don't directly damage your team?" 

Is he 30? 40? 50? 

I do believe those knuckleheads were just Costa-cized. 

Yep, Costa-cized. That's a term Brad and I coined during the '06 Torino Winter Olympics to describe the phenomenon of a Bob Costas zing! - beautifully exemplified by his commentary during the male cross-country relay event:

 "Truly a warm moment on a cold and snowy night in Torino. The hometown fans just loving this. And I'm loving this Christian Zorzi, the anchorman on the relay team. He was nicknamed 'Zorro' in Salt Lake after an individual bronze medal performance when he donned a cape and a mask. Which is pretty much what I like to do after what I consider a successful broadcast." 

Isn't he refreshingly fab? I think Brad just summed it up quite well: "Oh, Costas, he's a rascal." 

Don' you go rounin' roun to . . . what?!

Friday night Brad and Red Boxed Blitz, a barely mediocre cop movie with Jason Statham (yummity yum) at the helm. We understood about 82% of the dialogue, and only that much b/c of context clues, interpreting for one another, and continual rewinding. 

Blitz, as I did not know until after we'd made our movie selection (the choices were slim regardless), is a British movie - meaning sexy Statham was not the only one speaking only-sort-of-discernable English. Everyone was speaking that variety, and further, they were doing so in the like 18 accents that somehow manage to exist in a country that's about 2/3 the size of California. 

What is it about the way Brits speak that makes it so darn incomprehensible? Are American English and our accents this incomprehensible to the Brits? To the rest of the English speaking world? Goodness. I could barely follow the story. One highlight was Brad informing Mr. Statham, "The word is chips, not crisps." My response? "Wait - he was talking about potato chips?" Something (many things) was clearly lost in translation. 

We had a not dissimilar experience watching Luther this summer. Luther, for those of you who are unfamiliar, is a fabulous British mini-series starring Idis fricking Elba, formerly of The Wire fame (oh, Stringer Bell). First of all, I had no idea he was British till I saw that show. Second of all, I love how the Brit cops say "Gov" when they're talking to the lieutenant. Third of all, we loved the show but only understood about 85-87% of what was being said during any episode. 

And it's not just media. I mean, when Brad and I first rode the metro upon our arrival to London in summer '08, three soccer players had a conversation next to us in a language that was both certainly my own and certainly not. I think I understood a sum total of 16 words in about 10 minutes. And I don't think we heard that same version of the language one more time over 3 days in the city. 

All this puts me in mind of a completely delightful, totally-worth-watching SNL clip, "Don' You Go Rounin' Roun to Re Ro" - http://vimeo.com/19972082. 

It's a favorite of mine and Brad's, and it never fails to crack us up completely. Shannon was thoroughly amused when we showed her this summer, and I assure you, if you've ever found yourself watching a British movie/show and asking, "What the heck did he just say? What's happening?" you won't be disappointed.

PSA: George Clooney will not Remarry

Dear Ladies, 

George Clooney has gone public about his relationship with Stacy Keibler, whoever that is. These two gorgeous people (though she really doesn't do anything for me; blondes, IMO, are over-rated) have been spending some time together for the past few months, and, undoubtedly, they will continue to do so for the next few months/years. Even so, you can be sure that Ms. Keibler will not be the next Mrs. Clooney. 

Why? 

B/c George Clooney said a long time ago that he will never remarry,* and numerous long relationships that have not led to a walk down the altar should be evidence enough that he means business. That is, the business of staying a bachelor. 

If Clooney's ex-flame Elisabetta Canalis, who is smokin' hot - she's like one part Kate Beckinsale and one part Alessandra Ambrosio and one part Italian accent - couldn't get the guy to put a ring on her finger, I assure you, there is not a woman out there who will. 

So: stop dreaming, stop theorizing, stop guessing, stop scheming. If what you want is a big ol' rock; the romantic vowels on the beach; the growing fat together as you grow old together, try pinning your hopes on someone other than one of only three men* to rank as People's Sexiest Man Alive twice (1997 and 2006). Besides, he probably works too much and doesn't pick up his underwear.

Signed, 
Yours Truly 

* Clooney was married to Talia Balsam in the early '90s. 
** Brad Pitt and Richard Gere (yum) were the other two. 

Good ol' music and the good ol' days

I am, hopelessly, a devotee of the bands I fell in love with circa a decade ago and, more specifically, the songs and albums they put out back then. The big names that made it - Train, Vertical Horizon, Third Eye Blind, 3 Doors Down, Tonic - and the little and/or local ones you don't hear much (or anything) from these days - Athenaeum, Caroline's Spine, Black Lab, the Clarks, Dexter Freebish, Neve, Collapsis. They had my heart then and still have it - as their songs play randomly from my iPod. 

(And don't even try to tell me my music ain't sophisticated b/c I couldn't give a hairy backside.)

According to Chris Rock, you'll always love whatever music you were listening to when you started getting . . . well, you know. (Yes, for the record, I am referencing Chris Rock, and I'm proud of it. I can't think of anyone more hilarious and on-point at the same time with the exception of Seinfeld. So there.) Since I remained a virtuous lass until I wedded my dearest, I'm going to have to tweak his statement and say that whatever music you listened to while coming of age (which sounds a lot less cool than "getting laid," admittedly) will be music you love forever. I mean, isn't there just something that gets you about the tunes you loved way back when? 

And let's broaden that out to the whole music experience. I'm totally having a nostalgic moment for the Pittsburgh music scene of my high school and college days (and I know Brad joins me in this nostalgia, although he hates - hates! - my music). 

Back in t he day, Pittsburgh used to actually be a place to see up-and-comers, and man, was it fun. My senior year of high school, I went to a bunch of shows at different clubs around town. There was Graffiti, where I saw Stroke 9 while wearing a ridiculous back-less shirt and - eeks! - no bra. There was Club Laga in Oakland, and while I can't remember who I saw there, I do remember it was about 1000 degrees. And, of course, there was my favorite, Metropol, in the Strip District.

Oh Metropol, oh the memories. Amanda and I and a bunch of our friends saw Vertical Horizon there - I can still remember the bass player's maroon, skin-tight leather pants (we spazzed out - it basically screamed sex). I'm actually pretty sure that we saw them there twice. We also saw Splender - and after the show I kissed the super hot bass player, but did not accept his invitation to join him back at his hotel room . . . . 

An 18-yr. old me looking oh-so-very-excited with Matt Scannell,
lead singer of VH 

And the number one show of all time (for me, at least): we stood in the front row, smashed against the stage, sweating and screaming and singing and otherwise freaking out as Train performed its debut album (titled, of course, Train). This was before Train was "Train" and, sadly, before Metropol (and the bustling nightlife of the Strip) was no more. 

I remember talking to the band members in front of the club after the show (yes, Patrick Monahan is really that sexy) and one of them said to me, shocked and flattered, "You knew all the words to all our songs." 

I was like, "Of course! I love you guys!" At that point, they'd released only "Free" and "Meet Virginia," glorious things that they are, and most of their fans knew only those words. But we dear high school girls had, of course, virtually memorized their cd. And it was soooooooo cool that they noticed. I've still got the $10 bill that their drummer signed and gave to me. (I was into collecting things from my various hot-guy-related quests, haha.) 

So, as I sit here listening to a song Brad and I listened to courtesy of Napster on the evening of our first date in 2001 ("Send It Up" by Vertical Horizon), I want to give a shout-out: to the bands from back in the day (and all their amazing music that was felt like the soundtrack for my life) and all the old Pittsburgh clubs that didn't make it but kicked *ss while we were lucky enough to have 'em, you oldies-but-goodies are the very, very best-est. Rock on, rock on, rock on. 

Movie Un-Recommendations

Tonight, Brad and I are relaxing on the patio behind our house, listening to Coltrane on his iPod speakers, futzing with the new fire pit, and just generally enjoying one another's company. B/c the breeze is so nice (or chilly, if you ask me - and I've got the sweater, fleece pants, and blanket to prove it) and the light is out so long, we're doing our version of communing with nature instead of what we usually do on nights like this - that is, on summer nights when I've got no work to do. (For the record, I do have school tomorrow, but I turned in my translation of the opening of The Trial this morning.) 

Normally, we curl up on the couch in front of the flat screen and, if there's no Burn Notice or True Blood or NCIS going on, we watch a movie from Netflix or RedBox or our personal stash of DVDs, or something streaming from Netflix on our super high-tech excessive BluRay (a gift from the in-laws, of course). 

A lot of the movies we've recently been watching, however (with the exception of Inception), have been so crappy it hurts. It seems that every now and again we get to the point where we've exhausted all of the movies of mutual interest, and we end up watching garbage (of seemingly mutual interest). Well, we're at that point. Now we need to take a little break from our flick viewing so that I can stop saying, "I can't believe I just wasted my life on that crap!" 

To hopefully save you from the same fate, here are the movies that have bored, irked, baffled, and just plain disappointed us in the past 2 months (in no particular order). They definitely receive my heartfelt un-recommendation. 

--------------------
   Black Swan 
This was obviously my pick. And I've paid for it mightily in the form of groaning and moaning from Brad. I figured all the critical raving about it meant it was worth seeing. And, after all, Natalie Portman - who I like a lot - won the Oscar. Well, it sucked. Her performance was one dimensional ("a crazy, frigid ballerina," is Brad's description, and he doesn't say this lightly - he, like, loves her), the movie could've been an hour and 5 min. instead of an hour and 48 min., and the lesbian love scene was so over-hyped. 

Vincent Cassel was probably the best thing about this movie. He seems to often play a somewhat unhinged person, and he does to quite well. But that's about all I have to say in favor of this one. Don't see it unless you feel obligated to watch all of the "hip" movies of the year. 

   True Grit 
Love love love Jeff Bridges, and he does a nice job in this movie. (He's a U.S. Marshal named "Rooster" Cogburn.) The main female character does a nice job, too, but the story is really slow, it doesn't get interesting until the last 25 minutes (of an hour and 45 min.), and Matt Damon (whom Brad and I adore) plays a mostly lame and uninteresting (though at times humorous) Texas Ranger. I was a little shocked when Brad told me it was a western. but I went with it. Oh, folly. 

The ending is so so so unacceptably unsatisfying that any ground the movie might have made up in the last 25 min. is instantly lost. Even Brad, who feigned interest, was greatly shocked and irritated by the non-ending. The movie's based on some book, by the way. That's all I got. It was dumb. 

   Taking Lives 
I don't know why you would see this movie now - it's from 2004 - but we just watched it yesterday. Angelina Jolie is her usual gross, skanky self. (Those lips give me nightmares.) Ethan Hawke is his usual rat-looking, feminine-sounding self. The plot was what you might expect from something called Taking Lives - serial killer, FBI agent, childhood baggage, questions about who's who, etc. etc. There was a pretty hot sex scene, but it was too drawn out. We normally like these kinds of movies b/c they keep our attention and don't require much thought or emotional involvement; this one required a great amount of thought, however: we had to answer, Why did we pick this? 

(Even though I can't stand Angelina Jolie, we did enjoy Salt recently.) 

   Stone 
This movie's got one majorly great thing going for it: Bobby D. 

Brad and I are somewhat obsessed with Robert DeNiro (can you be "somewhat" obsessed?), and so we'll sign on for most anything he does (including American Express . . . okay, not really, but still). But even he and Edward Norton couldn't save this movie from Milla Jojovovich and a horribly slow and unexciting story line. Mil-Jo, as Brad calls her, is just awful in my opinion (in his opinion: hot), and this film was no exception. 

I wanted to like this movie - it's serious, nicely filmed, trying to be complex and grapple with deep themes. But it's just a disappointment. Another one with not enough going on either plot-wise or character-wise, and although I might be the only person who feels this way, a thuggish, convict Edward Norton just isn't very convincing to me. 

   Perfect Getaway 
Okay, so we didn't see this in the last 2 months, but it was so bad and I dislike Mil-Jo so much that I've got to mention it. Steve Zahn is the other "name" in the movie, and he's also endlessly irritating to me. This was a sort of - I don't know - psychological thriller? or something. It did have me "tricked" - that much I'll say for it. But it was so over-the-top and stupid-weird that I just couldn't wait for it to be over. There was no interesting depth or nuance to the psychological level - just weirdness and craziness. And I can't stand Mil-Jo!

This Old House + Zombies = Love

Just when I thought This Old House couldn't get any better (unless it stopped having so much crap about shrubs, plants, etc.), it got immensely better. 

I go to the website - unsurprisingly, thisoldhouse.com - and what pops up before me? "How to Protect Your Home in a Zombie Invasion." That. Is. So. Awesome. 

As you may have realized by now, I am not a little bit obssessed with our dear flesh-and/or-brain-eating friends. For them to be featured on the website of my favorite over-priced magazine, well, that's like a "Happy Summer" present to me. 

But there's more. As I'm feverishly clicking from "tip" to "tip," I stumble upon nothing less than a reference to the 'Burgh. Just. Got. So. Much. Freaking. Better. 

For those of you who foolishly will not click the link and see for yourself and then also see the other wisdom TOH has to offer, I will copy and paste below. But, be forewarned: if you don't look at their suggestions and the zombie apocalyse does happen, you've no one to blame but yourself. And, if I make it out of the attic alive, I will say, I told you so. Now go, and fight the good fight.

(from thisoldhouse.com) 

#4 Remember: Good Fences = Good Zombie Neighbors

Along with Pittsburgh's three rivers, the only thing that protected the living from the undead in George Romero's 2005 film Land of the Dead was a giant electric fence. Well, if it's good enough for the Iron City, it's good enough for your house, too. If you can't afford an electric fence, consider building a tough, tall chain-link, wrought-iron, or cinderblock version (at least eight to twelve feet high) around your property. The local zoning board might take offence, but, seriously, man; this is a zombie invasion. Who cares about zoning? 

The Friday 4: Serious Questions

Last Friday I was MIA for reasons I can only now guess at (they all sound a bit like, "Extremely stressed out and working like a maniac"); to make up for my absence (which I doubt anyone but me noticed), I offer four very serious questions for you to ponder. And I'd really like to hear your answers. It is my assertion here that you can't really know yourself until you've considered your answers to the following: 

4.  If you had the opportunity were forced to be on a reality show, which one would you pick? 

Survivor, duh. I'd get rockin' skinny, in mad crazy shape, lose my caffeine addiction (though I'd suffer a monster headache in the process), and have the chance to win, what, $1 million? Doesn't sound so awful - that is, till I start thinking about all the bugs out there in those outdoorsy places . . . 

3.  You've won a contest! Now choose from the following prizes: a brand-spanking new monster truck or a 2 yr. old dolphin. 

There are serious considerations to be weighed here. Like, the monster truck is giant, so where are you gonna keep it? The dolphin, though, lives in water; where in the h-e-double-hockey-stick are you gonna keep that one? 

Dolphins are cool, no doubt. They're swimming mammals, for crying out loud! Plus, they're smart and kinda pretty. And some dolphin species are endangered, so it's not a shabby idea to protect them or, conversely, get your dolphin prize and set her free off in the wild, wild waters. 

Even so, I've got to go with the monster truck. Yeah, it'd guzzle gas like nobody's business, but from what I hear of Shannon's hometown, it's just the kind of place where you could drive around on 66" tires without raising too many eyebrows. Though I might mock off-roading, I think I could make an exception for a truck on steroids. 

2.  Gotta give up (gasp) either bread or cheese. Decision, please? 

I'm twitching just thinking about this. In either case, you ain't havin' pizza no more. Which in and of itself is weep-worthy. 

If you say "see ya" to the cheese, you can't eat, well, cheese. I'm not sure any other argument needs to be made. Nachos would be sorely missed, for sure. And none of Olive Garden's dishes would be the same. 

If it's the bread you wave bye-bye to, you're not eating toast, sandwiches, stuffing, and on and on (well, on and on if you can think of other things. At this late hour, I cannot). 

I'm sorry to say it even as I'm saying it (typing it), but the cheese-o would get the heave-o. No, I'm not happy about it, but bread makes possible butter, which I'll affectionately call My Life's Staple. 


1.  For one day, you've got a monkey at your disposal; detail your activities. 

A baby mona 

Who doesn't love monkeys?! Who wouldn't want a pet monkey for a day?! Since meeting a mona monkey at the community college where Brad and I worked after first getting married, I've been about two steps away from trekking to the jungle and hiding a furry friend in my backpack. 

Ala Dane Cook's hilarious animated clip from Shorties Watchin' Shorties, I want a monkey to fight. With swords. And it's got to talk. And be funny. After we swordfight for a few hours (with breaks scheduled for our respective favorite beverages and foods), the monkey and I will go out to mess with my friends' minds. I'm not yet sure what the plan is, but I'm pretty sure it will be awesome. Brad can come with us if he wants (and how, really, could he not?). But only after the monkey and I have messed with his mind, too. 

Lastly, I'll have the monkey show me how to be a tree-climbing-and-swinging bad*ss. There are woods all around these parts that should do nicely. Oh, and actually lastly - another swordfight, this time with blindfolds (don't worry, we're using Nerf swords for this one). 

(I couldn't find the clip from Shorties - much to my disappointment - but the content of his stand-up on the monkey is here. Be forewarned, you delicate souls: it's not PG or even PG-13. He gets to the monkey bit at about 2:40, but trust me, the whole things is soooooo worth listening to. Oh, and Dane Cook is a babe.)

The Friday 4: Premature "Cancellations"

I'm being creative in my use of the term "cancellations" here, but it fits well enough. 

4.  Car:  Pontiac Bonneville 

Brad's looked just like this 

It's just sad that this car doesn't exist anymore (the same can be said about the whole brand). Good, old, American comfort. (Says the person who drives a Honda. But still.) I miss seeing them on the road. I also miss Brad's 2000 gold Bonneville, which he - I sigh - totaled in 2009. This, of course, is why we have the Blazer. More sighing. 

(runner-up:  Lincoln LS) 

3.  Presidential career:  Hillary Clinton

I voted for Hillary in the 2008 primaries. So did my husband. The rest of the county we were then living in, however, voted for Obama. It was a happy day for me when she accepted the Secretary of State position, but it ain't enough. I'm confident she'd be an effective, competent, and knowledgeable leader - and I'm holding out delusional hope that I'll soon have to retract this post b/c she'll be the 2012 Democratic nominee and, ultimately, our 45th president . . . I know, I know, come back to reality. I don't wanna. 

(runner-up - Bobby Kennedy) 

2.  Restauant dish:  Chili's chicken tacos 

Just seeing these saddens me 

Oh, oh, oh, I weep. Soft shells, delicious greasy sauce (what was that sauce?), chicken, lettuce, tomato, and, of couse, cheese - what's not to love? Brad and I used to split an order (plus bottomless chips and salsa) about twice a month. Until they started Menu Annihilation: the years-long process by which they replaced everything that was good and reasonable (by picky people standards) on their menu with nasty and/or tasteless and/or weird options. No more chicken tacos, no more Mushroom Jack fajitas, and they changed the recipe for the chicken Caesar salad (and the Caesar dressing). Now, we don't even bother going. 

(runner-up - Chili's chicken nachos) 

Ain't she cute? 

1.  TV show:  Veronica Mars 

I LOVE Kristen Bell. Could anybody be cuter? I think not.

Mock if you will (I did before I watched the show), but Veronica Mars is a freakin' great show. The people at the CW network were fools to cancel it. Fools! I say. Brad and I still haven't watched the third season (we only came to our senses once it was cancelled), but it's at the tip-top of the list for the summer - when we have time to watch like 6 episodes in a row and pull unreasonable and fun all-nighters. 

Veronica and Logan . . . love it! 

It's just so darn engaging. Drama, comedy, mystery, detective story - what's not to love?! Not to mention the fact that I love Logan. (What a babe!) Sure, it's completely unrealistic - no high school or college life is anything like this - but who the heck cares! People don't seem interested in shows that are like real life either (see the runner-up below), so that's not a solid strike against it. 

(runner-up - Boomtown)

In the Trenches

Tomorrow I will begin teaching The Hours to my class of freshmen for the second half of our fiction unit. The above title might at first seem more applicable to the first part of the unit - for which we read The Things They Carried, Tim O'Brien's classic, 1990 National Book Award-nominated collection of short stories about the Vietnam War, memory, and storytelling - but I assure you, it's not. 

My students loved O'Brien's book even more than I hoped they would. And it makes sense: I was their age when I was first introduced to his work, and over the years he has come to be possibly my favorite author (though there's a strong case for the award going to Hemingway). 

While for me and certainly those generations older than me (read: those who were alive during the Vietnam War or its immediate aftermath), the potential stickiness of the topic is obvious. But these students are too young to have any investment in Vietnam and, to a large extent, anything more than the most superficial knowedge about Vietnam. And so, while the book's stance (anti-Vietnam Wat, though decidedly not anti-American soldier) is surely contentious to me or you, none of them seemed to interpret this as a political issue and, therefore, none took umbrage with it. 

Michael Cunningham's 1999 Pulitzer Prize-winning The Hours (which was the original working-title of Virginia Woolf's 1923 novel Mrs. Dalloway), however, is a littttttttle bit of a different story. 

Some of you may have seen the (very gripping) movie with Meryl Streep (love her!), Nicole Kidman, and Julianne Moore (who I could totally do without). It came out when I was a junior in college, so, 2003 or 2004. If you have seen it, jog your memory a bit. Yep, there you go - now you know why I'm anxious to see how teaching this book will go over with a group of freshman. Two of whom are in seminary. Many of whom have probably never interacted with a person they knew to be gay. 

Nicole Kidman as Virginia Woolf 

Basically, the novel follows the lives of three women in three very distinct historical time periods - the 1920s, 1950s, and the very end of the 20th century. One of these women is an open lesbian, another (a fictionalized version of Woolf) suffers from debilitating mental illness that leads to suicide, and the third contemplates suicide b/c she feels suffocated by her role as a 1950s suburban housewife. Oh, and did I mention Richard? He's a gay man suffering from AIDS, which has basically eaten away a large part of his brain. 

Yesterday, after they finished their peer workshop on their papers, I put a few of the book's "thematic concerns" on the board for them to consider as they read. My list looked something like this: 

Gender - questioning the traditional definitions and roles; questioning the relations b/t genders 
Sexuality - homosexuality, heterosexuality, bisexuality 
Mental illness/"madness" - how is it represented in society? in fiction? what are the effects of its being stigmatized? 
Performing "roles" - what does it mean to be a "wife," "mother," etc. 

There were not a few wide eyes when I mentioned "homosexuality." I was impressed, however, that when I asked for the difference b/t sex and gender (which, interestingly, we also talked about in my theory class later in the day), someone actually had an accurate answer. That, if nothing else, seemed promising. 

After a book focusing on all male characters, I'm glad to throw some female in the mix, but this experience might end up being one minefield after another. However, if I don't expose them to these issues, who will? I guess we'll see how this goes . . . .

Yummy yummy True Blood

Ryan Kwanten, aka Jason I've-got-
more-muscles-than-you-knew-
existed Stackhouse

(Okay wait, that kind of sounds like I'm talking about the synthetic blood drink . . . no, no, I stick to Mt. Dew and Starbucks, I swear.) 

After watching Season 1, I feel comfortable making the following assertions: 

-- The show's awesome. 
-- And it's pretty much all about sex. 
-- And that's okay b/c the vast majority of characters are scrumptious: Jason, Sam, Bill, Sookie, Eric (even if he's an a-hole), Lafayette, Amy (even if she's unbearably annoying), even Dawn. 

Okay, plus the acting's good, the stories are compelling, and they know how to do mystery/suspense. Brad and I suspected every single person of being the Season 1 murderer (well, every single guy) except for the person it actually was. And yet, that storyline was totally believable. And satisfying. 

If you saw the Sept. 2010 Rolling Stone cover with Anna Paquin, Stephen Moyer, and Alexander Skarsgard, then you know why I wanted to watch these beautiful people award-winning actors. I'm mean, yikes. 

BUT, if you need more than fabulous bodies to entice you (I shudder to think such a thing is possible!), I've got some "legitimate" reasons in my bag of tricks, too. (And, I'm about to contradict my claim that it's all about sex. Except I did say it was pretty much all about sex - not completely.) The show is timely, relevant, and unabashedly provocative in its engagement with 

Eeks! they're oozing sex all over my blog! 

-- homosexuality and intolerance/ignorance 
-- political hypocrisy (also know as "hypocritism" by me) 
-- racism and race relations (vamps and humans in the show, obviously - given the deep South setting, however, the real race issues are barely even under the surface) 
-- extreme, fundamental religion 
-- drug laws and enforcement 

and surely myriad other topics that I've been too dense to notice. 

Further, it should be noted that I praise the show not out of the now-popular adoration of all-things-vampire. I got over Buffy long ago, circa 1999, and I think the cult following it has achieved is, well, silly. It's really not all that good, and Sarah Michelle Geller's voice is fantasically irritating. It always sounds like she needs to clear snot out of her throat. (As some of you know, there's nothing like an annoying voice to prickle me.) While Brad and I religiously watched Angel during my early college years, that was less a function of quality (which, decidedly, is not high) and more a function of that's-what-was-on-TNT-when-Law-&-Order-reruns-weren't. 

And while I do love the Underworld movies and 30 Days of Night, I ask you, Who in her right mind doesn't!? 

Basically, True Blood's a smart show that will draw you in in no time flat. It might even make you think. And did I mention how sexy it is?

This is just more than I can take without sharing

Because I don't already have enough to do, Brad made me listen to this: "Friday" by Rebecca Black." Don't just listen, watch. Or, don't just watch, listen. It will make your soul cry. 

In so many ways, I CANNOT believe this video exists. Although, now Brad has made me feel bad (just a little) b/c this girl thought she was having the experience of a lifetime and now every person who sees her video is shredding it and her. 

About 60% of me believes this is fake - one article suggested it was a Lonely Island-esque endeavor. And, quite frankly, I hope so, b/c that would mean this is not someone's idea of reasonable music. 

Regardless, what makes this whole situation even more special is the cover by, as Brad terms him, "Mock Bob Dylan." 

Oh, enjoy.

I'm part of the problem

Yesterday, I started a post on Charlie Sheen's bizarre-o antics. In fact, I wrote an entire post, but it felt like two separate efforts. About 5/8 (probably my second favorite fraction) of the way through, I did an about-face, switching from light-hearted mockery to serious appraisal of his situation and the nation's attitude toward mental illness. And then I felt icky about what I'd written. I couldn't click the big orange button to send it into cyberspace b/c something just felt wrong. 

Then my mom came over to help with the powder room renovation, and when we got to talking about Sheen's behavior (we both get sucked into celeb gossip), she grew serious: "Yes, it was funny - for a while. But then it went on and on, and I started to think, There's a real problem here - something is not right with this situation." 

Her sentiments were very similar to those at the end of my unposted post. But my mom didn't laugh. Not for the first 5/8 of the conversation; not at all. 

So, having had a day and a half to sit with this, I write now to say two things. First, shame on me. (This will be echoed, deservedly, below.) Last weekend I laughed at Sheen when Brad and I had friends over; a few days ago we watched Jimmy Kimmel lampoon Sheen and cracked up, and we even talked about it the next day. Shame on me. Shame on me for being part of the problem. 

The problem is the second thing I want to talk about. What follows is excerpted from my initial post. The first two lessons - I now lower my head as I say it - were jokes at Sheen's expense, rife with references to winning, Adonis, and Tiger's Blood. But the third one is the only one worth reading, and the others have vanished into the world of "cut" text. 

"Lesson 3:  No one is exempt from the threat of mental illness, and as a society, we need to revamp our attitudes toward it. 

All joking aside (and I do love joking), Sheen's behavior isn't just weird, it's off. There's a pretty real chance that Sheen suffers from bipolar disorder or some other serious - and untreated - mental health problem. And if that's the case, then this post and all 6 million Charlie-Sheen-mocking articles out there are contributing to a really really big problem in this country - an insensitive and ignorant approach to mental illness. And, if this is indeed what I'm contributing to, as someone who takes mental illness very seriously, let me be the first to say it: Shame on me. 

In 'Charlie Sheen Isn't Funny' from the LA Times, a long-time sufferer of bipolar disorder comments on the social stigma associated with mental illness in this country: 'In Hollywood, "it's easier to say 'I was smoking crack and hanging out with hookers' than admitting 'I'm deeply depressed or deeply in pain,'" said Abbey, who spent years working in the entertainment industry. "People are quick to judge you when you're manic depressive. I think Charlie Sheen, like a lot of us, doesn't want to wear that label."' 

It's quite likely that something serious - beyond an unpleasant personality - is plaguing Charlie Sheen and contributing to his very, very public meltdown. And while lots of people realize this, many more don't. It took me several weeks (and a newspaper article) to even consider the possibility. 

According to the National Institute of Mental Health, more than 25% of the country's population suffers from some form of mental illness during a given year. That's a HUGE number. These problems are very real for the sufferers, their parents, children, spouses, and friends. As a culture, our general lack of knowledge about what constitutes mental illness and what it "means" leads to lack of awareness about how to handle it and a lack of sensitivity to the subject. I don't believe most people are purposely cruel. I'm certainly not. And yet, to read my unposted post, you'd have every reason to believe I was. 

Mental health problems are just that - health problems. They should be no more a source of shame and embarrassment for those who suffer from them than is a torn rotator cuff, asthma, rheumatoid arthritis, migraines, or heart disease. But that's easier said than done. Any hope for a change in people's attitudes toward those with mental illness will have to derive from education. Our society needs to become educated about the signs, symptoms, and causes of mental illness. We can't stick our heads in the sand - these problems aren't going away." 

So ends the only respectable part of what I wrote yesterday. 

A super-size ego is funny, but manic depression is not. Arrogance - amusing; self-destruction - not at all. And I'm pointing a finger at myself.

The Friday 4: Ways You Know You're Getting Old

And by "you," of course, I mean "me." 

4. Your pop culture references receive blank stares and furrowed brows from your students. 

Gotta love Grady Tripp 

Hey, I can toss out a Jay-Z reference with the best of 'em - but when I mention a movie like  Wonder Boys or The Hours (both of which are books! the second of which I'm teaching later this semester!), and my students respond with the same look that, say, Dirty Harry or The French Connection, would get from them, it's a sign I'm no longer on the cutting edge. (Not that I ever was. But still.) 

3. Five years ago, you could name about 150 of the 200 people you graduated high school with; now, 75 is pushing it. 

My graduating class had 217 people. In June 2000, when I departed from those hallowed halls, I could name roughly 217 of the people who left with me. About five years ago, I probably still had a good 150 names locked away in my brain. I have for years marveled at how people forget the last names, faces, etc. of former classmates they spent YEARS around. Then the other night - b/c I do useless things like this - while I was laying in bed, I tried (in my head) to name as many people by first and last name as I could. To say I got 75 is a stretch. And it's not like more useful things have filled my noggin since 2006 and taken up the name-space. 

I think I can feel the memory dripping out of my head . . . . 

2. Your teacher has to increase the font size on the projected computer screen to 18 pt. so you could read it. 

On Tuesday, my professor projected a Word file -
standard Times New Roman, 12 pt. font - onto the screen at the front of the classroom. Squinting, I still had difficulty making out the words. I asked him to make it bigger, and he increased the font to 18 pt., which wasn't bad, though I was still leaning forward. People in the class chuckled at my request. Whatev. The kicker is my teacher's response: "You're like me." No biggie, until I explain that two weeks ago he got his first pair of bifocals. Oh, and that's he's 40. 

1. You consider sleeping till 9:30 a.m. "sleeping in." 

Never thought the day would come. Never. Still in a bit of denial that it has. As recently as Christmas break, I could snooze till 11 a.m. with ease; this past summer, 12:30 was easy as pie. 

But something's happened. Now, even on days when my alarm isn't set for 6 a.m., I'm usually up before 8. On the weekends, if Brad and I get out of bed around 9 or 9:30, I think, "Wow! We sure slept late!" What's next?! Wearing my pants up to my armpits and driving 14 mph down the highway?

To Tweet-er or not to Tweet-er

Yeah, it's Twitter, I know. I know. But I did just call it "Tweeter" by mistake (a mix-up of "Twitter" and"tweeting," that's all, for crying out loud) and garnered the mockery of my tech-savvy husband. 

The title refers to Bradley, not me. I think Twitter is stupid. Sorry to offend if I have offended. Well, not that sorry, b/c I do think it's stupid. Maybe I just don't get it. I mean, for sure, I don't get it. And maybe that's the only reason I think it's dumb; then again, maybe not. Maybe it just is dumb. 

Anyway, we're sitting at Starbucks presently, and my dear hubby announces, "I think maybe I'll start doing Twitter." 

Me:  twitching, half-laughing, trying to appraise his seriousness-level. 

Him:  serious. 

This man I am sitting across from with whom I share a home and cats and myriad other things just said to me, only half-jokingly (and how I wish it were more than half), "It's a revolution in communication." 

I sigh. Were we not in public, I would weep. He's not interested in blogging, but this whole Twitter thing is, somehow, appealing. He says he wants to use it, at least in part, professionally. I have no idea what that means, and he hasn't quite articulated what that means. Does this mean he doesn't know what that means? What do I mean? What does the universe mean? What do I mean by "mean"? Okay, now I'm being unnecessarily silly. 

Anyway, my husband may soon become the next Mr. Twitter, joining the ranks of Demi Moore, Jim Carey, and apparently a host of "profressionals" who are tweeting about who-knows-what. Will that make me Mrs. Twitter? I really, really hate the sound of that . . .

Am I really eight years behind the rest of the world?

So, I've frequented Starbucks this past week or two, and, if you've been there for any chunk of time, you know they have a tendency to play songs over and over again. When you're there for 3 or 4 hours, you get pretty familiar with whatever you can't block out with ears plugs, John Coltrane, or index fingers. Plus, the annoying guy sitting to your right helps you out b/c he sings every other line out loud, humming the tune in b/t. (Sorry, I had to complain about him again. He really put a damper on my Tuesday.) 

But anyway. I am currently obsessed with a Jayhawks' song called "Save It for a Rainy Day" that I've heard umpteen times at that delicious coffee shop. (And please, I don't want to hear how it's so commercial and bourgeois, etc. etc. Their coffee tastes good, and the place is relatively clean. There:  it's officially met my requirements for coffee-selling establishments.) So, I look the tune up today, and it turns out it came out in 2003. I'd been thinking either late last year/early this year or maybe the 1960s (seriously). How do I miss things for EIGHT years? 

Are the Jayhawks super famous? No. Am I a super-up-to-date music person? No. But this song is right up my alley, and in 2003 I was a college junior still 300% into finding new music. I mean, I'm out of touch, sure, but it's a little shocking for me to learn I'm this out of touch. 

(The video's actually pretty cool - it's got Mary-Louise Parker wearing old school clothes. I guess that means it officially meets my requirements for music videos . . .)

If sh*t pops off, who's the bigger threat: Zombies or Vampires?

To translate:  if the world starts going to hell in a handbasket, which form of the undead is more likely to be the culprit? 



Smokin' hot vampire Kate Beckinsale 



Some zombie guy 

I feel like the answer to this question is obvious. So does Brad. ZOMBIES. 

But, somehow, Shannon has managed to argue that werewolves are "just as likely as vampires" (and by this she means "not likely"). And while I've shot this down with a semi-logical argument (that she thinks is bunk), she has caught my attention with, "What about robots?" Her attempt to introduce aliens into the conversation, however, has been vetoed. As Butcher so eloquently put it, Aliens are a trump card. Therefore, they don't even count. More specifically, the rules for fighting aliens are simply too uncertain and preparation for an alien invasion is nearly impossible. (Though I'm open to hearing arguments on this.) 

My claim for zombies as opposed to vampires (and yes, I am actually having this conversation with people in an English department over the course of several days) goes like this. If vampires exist, they have - according to vampire lore - existed for hundreds of years. There's nothing to suggest that they would all of a sudden show an interest in taking over the world when, by my estimation, the forces/weapons/technology that are available to fight them grow daily. Basically, if they were gonna kick some hiney, I believe they'd have already done so. Probably a long time ago. 

Zombies, on the other hand, are a modern invention. They'd be coming about now and spreading like a plague now b/c they just started existing whenever things went wrong in the lab. Or whatever. (I confess I am not a zombie buff, nor am I a vampire buff. But we did watch two of the Underworld movies again the other day. That served as a nice refresher.) 

This is not a new question for me - Brad and I began discussing this during the summer when, on our walks around the neighborhood, we noticed quite a few squirrel and bird carcasses. The work of zombies? Who can say. But this is obviously a legit question (and funny as hell to argue about). And we're not the only people who are interested; there's even a book about surviving run-ins with zombies. 

Perhaps the best addition to this ongoing conversation was contributed by a professor in my dept. I asked her, "So, if stuff starts popping off, do you think it will be vampires or zombies?" Her response: "Well, vampires don't disintegrate. Their body parts don't really come off." No, that's not what we meant by "popping off" . . . .

What has happened to Southland?

                                                  

(Spoiler alert:  if you haven't watched episode 4 of the current season of Southland and you plan to, then don't read this.) 

Things should be going well in the Land of South. Sammy's horrible, annoying, nerve-grating wife is finally getting the heave-ho, and, given Sal's lesser role this season, his shrieking daughter Kimmy has been thankfully MIA. (Brad and I have long wished for violence to befall both of these characters). Add that to the infrequent appearance of the idiot Dewey in recent episodes, and season 3 sounds like it's got the makings of magic. 

But it sucks. 

The episodes have lost their tightness, the interconnectedness of the various strands. The gritty violence took a leave of absence, while the surprising humor of episodes like "See the Woman" (John and Ben in the wig shop; the missing Bentley with the Great Dane) can be found only in the occasional side comment by John. One week's action seems pretty interchangeable with the next's. And now, a television travesty has occured:  Det. Nate Moretta has been killed out of nowhere. 

Not only is actor Kevin Alejandro gorgeously gorgeous, but his character Nate was also likeable, realistic, and interesting. He was someone you actually wanted to watch. And I don't care whether his sudden death was super "real," etc.:  the simple fact is that the show cannot afford to lose him right now. This season, Lydia is the only redeeming aspect of the series. Her new partner Ochoa is irritating and uninteresting; John and Ben have been bickering like old women at a card game; and, as Greg over at SpicyMovieDogs.com says, it was Nate who made Sammy's character work. With Sal and Chickie thrust into "recurring" rather than regular roles, the show doesn't have much to work with. Please don't tell me that Lydia's gonna start hating her job and go to med school; I don't know if I could bear it. 

I can't believe I'm saying it, but I long for the time when, two or three days after watching an episode, we were driving down the highway and in a momentary lull in some unrelated conversation, Brad exclaims, "F***ing Kimmy! Every time she leaves the house she gets in trouble!" The show was that memorable and intense. 

Since I should, instead of watching tv, be doing my loads of work, I ought to take the show's current crappiness as a sign to watch less tv. Instead, I'm thinking Nate's death is just another reason we need to start watching True Blood. I could get used to Kevin Alejandro as a hunky witch.

To quote Borat,

"Great success!" 

In other words, we'll be having a second date.