That's the title of a book of essays on Italian cities by the late-nineteenth century writer Henry James that Carla had in her apartment. He apparently spent a great deal of time living in Venice, as well as traveling around to other points of interest in the country. Everything he had to say about Venice was laudatory, except when he mentioned the rank smell of the canals in summer and when he complained about the tourists--in the 1870s, long before air travel made visiting Italy a possibility for so many people outside of Europe, and way, way before what we like to call "the Asian invasion," which anyone who has ever fought their way through one of their massive tour groups clogging a main traffic artery will recognize.
There were definitely advantages to being in James' Venice. There were actual Venetians to speak of, for one thing; nowadays, most people who work in the city live on the mainland and commute. It's hard to imagine him writing today of the "character" of the Venetian people. Like every other place, they've become diversified and spread out. Money seems to have been another plus, as a gondola ride (then the preferred mode of transportation rather than a tourist luxury) cost only a few francs,instead of 80 euro. It costs you 6.5 euro to go inside San Marco today, plus extra to climb to the top or see the treasure room, but no one had thought yet of entrance fees to a church in the 1870s, and James was free to stroll into the church every day as he pleased.
On the other hand, his Venice seems to have been in an even greater degree of decline and shabbiness than it is today. A recently unified Italy in those days had little money or time to spend on learning good techniques for preservation, and James writes of the 'horrors' that were perpetrated against many of the edifices, including San Marco, in the interests of stabilizing them in the lagoon. One of the most prominent characteristics I remembered from my first visit to Venice was that sense of decay--all of the houses seem to feature faded, chipped, or moldy exteriors, which gives the fancier neighborhoods an air of tragic grandeur, but makes the more prosaic areas look plain dingy. On this visit I was prepared for that, and I felt more able to appreciate Venice's beauty despite her obvious defects.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
And We're Back
The legendary journeys of Michelle and Carla have ended, at least for now. Yesterday was rather exhausting--in Florence time I was traveling for about 18 hours. But now I'm safely ensconced back in my own apartment, and surprisingly happier to be back in the US than I would have expected (and never have I been happier to be an American citizen than when I realized there was no line at customs in JFK,what with a plane full of EU-ers!). It's much more wearing to visit a country than it is to live there. I miss Carla, though. I'd forgotten how good our "we're trying to go to sleep but it's not happening" talks were. Sigh.
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
Limping Around Florence
So apparently I hurt my right foot more than I thought, which left me awkwardly limping around the city yesterday. I have consumed more "Moment" than I would have thought necessary or possible, but it doesn't really seem to help. I'm sure the cure for a strained muscle is to stay off of it, but hello, was I going to spend yesterday in Carla's apartment? However, I conceded to myself that walking to the other side of the city and then up the eighty million steps to San Miniato al Monte and Pizziale Michelangelo was just not going to happen, so I took the bus. The view from there is really unparalleled.
I also returned to Palazzo Vecchio, which I love from the outside and also from the inside with its crazy Vasarian decorations. I superbly heart Eleonora of Toledo's clothes in all of her portraits. I should also mention that Carla and my first stop last Friday was the amazing place of adventure known as La Specola, the world's most batshit zoological museum, where we and a group of Italian schoolchildren were having a wonderful time but mysteriously we missed seeing the aiy-aiy! We both forgot about it completely.
Two nights ago we had dinner with Justin at Pizza Italiano, where the crazy chef who makes the pizzas adores Carla, and he not only sang to us but made us both heart-shaped pizzas which I would totally have photographed if it wouldn't have made me feel like such a toolish tourist. When I got here on Thursday, it was so much more crowded and noisy than I remembered it being even in May--I guess the Florence of my memories was when we first arrived, quiet streets, no lines for anything. I opted not to revisit a lot of our old haunts, like the Uffizi and the Pitti, and even David's lovely derriere in the Accademia--the line is too long, and ten euro for something I used to look at for free on the way to the grocery store? Nah. Sean requested that I think of him in the Boboli Gardens (his favorite place) but alas, my lameness precludes me from getting there, and also it is raining today. Sorry, sweetheart--you'll just have to come back here yourself!
Let's see, what else...Justin is a huge Juventus fan, so after dinner the other night we watched the last part of the game between them and Napoli, which was 0-0 until Juventus scored in the last few minutes, so it was pretty exciting. I'm glad I've gotten the chance to see the real Justin, the goofy, talkative, joking Justin, and not just the polite but shy guy I remember when Carla was first seeing him. He came over for dinner last night as well, when Carla cooked for me her famous pasta alla vodka, except she didn't have any vodka so I guess it was just pasta alla panna but it was still gooooood. And there was also a lot of Prosecco consumption (which I have recently come to enjoy) and me demanding basically to hear the entire history of the island of Malta. Carla contributed a great deal, since she's been there several times and watched this movie "The Malta Experience" that's a giant history lesson. Justin mentioned that the British ruled the island for 100 years before leaving, but when I asked him if they resented them, he was surprised and said no, of course not, they loved the British, they brought Malta into the modern age. So I guess post-colonial angst has no place among the Maltese people.
Before dinner we'd met up with my cousin Sara to go for a drink as well. She's loving Florence (who doesn't?) but she lives with six other girls in one apartment! Dear God. Carla's apartment here (did I mention that walking up 99 steps does not get easier when your foot's killing you?) is actually meant for two, and while I'm sure it's doable it's pretty sweet for one person. The noise factor of being in front of the Duomo, however, is definitely a detractor.
I should end this and limp downstairs--I want to visit my favorite thrift store, look for a scarf in the market, and go check out the other huge bookstore I apparently missed when I was here. Tonight Carla's conservatory has a concert that Justin and I will be attending. Then, sadly, I depart tomorrow morning at 8am for Rome, and thence home at 2. I got an email from HEather at work to let me know my boss is closing the office early Friday for easter weekend, so I will be working 9-1 after being gone for a week. Paul is awesome.
I also returned to Palazzo Vecchio, which I love from the outside and also from the inside with its crazy Vasarian decorations. I superbly heart Eleonora of Toledo's clothes in all of her portraits. I should also mention that Carla and my first stop last Friday was the amazing place of adventure known as La Specola, the world's most batshit zoological museum, where we and a group of Italian schoolchildren were having a wonderful time but mysteriously we missed seeing the aiy-aiy! We both forgot about it completely.
Two nights ago we had dinner with Justin at Pizza Italiano, where the crazy chef who makes the pizzas adores Carla, and he not only sang to us but made us both heart-shaped pizzas which I would totally have photographed if it wouldn't have made me feel like such a toolish tourist. When I got here on Thursday, it was so much more crowded and noisy than I remembered it being even in May--I guess the Florence of my memories was when we first arrived, quiet streets, no lines for anything. I opted not to revisit a lot of our old haunts, like the Uffizi and the Pitti, and even David's lovely derriere in the Accademia--the line is too long, and ten euro for something I used to look at for free on the way to the grocery store? Nah. Sean requested that I think of him in the Boboli Gardens (his favorite place) but alas, my lameness precludes me from getting there, and also it is raining today. Sorry, sweetheart--you'll just have to come back here yourself!
Let's see, what else...Justin is a huge Juventus fan, so after dinner the other night we watched the last part of the game between them and Napoli, which was 0-0 until Juventus scored in the last few minutes, so it was pretty exciting. I'm glad I've gotten the chance to see the real Justin, the goofy, talkative, joking Justin, and not just the polite but shy guy I remember when Carla was first seeing him. He came over for dinner last night as well, when Carla cooked for me her famous pasta alla vodka, except she didn't have any vodka so I guess it was just pasta alla panna but it was still gooooood. And there was also a lot of Prosecco consumption (which I have recently come to enjoy) and me demanding basically to hear the entire history of the island of Malta. Carla contributed a great deal, since she's been there several times and watched this movie "The Malta Experience" that's a giant history lesson. Justin mentioned that the British ruled the island for 100 years before leaving, but when I asked him if they resented them, he was surprised and said no, of course not, they loved the British, they brought Malta into the modern age. So I guess post-colonial angst has no place among the Maltese people.
Before dinner we'd met up with my cousin Sara to go for a drink as well. She's loving Florence (who doesn't?) but she lives with six other girls in one apartment! Dear God. Carla's apartment here (did I mention that walking up 99 steps does not get easier when your foot's killing you?) is actually meant for two, and while I'm sure it's doable it's pretty sweet for one person. The noise factor of being in front of the Duomo, however, is definitely a detractor.
I should end this and limp downstairs--I want to visit my favorite thrift store, look for a scarf in the market, and go check out the other huge bookstore I apparently missed when I was here. Tonight Carla's conservatory has a concert that Justin and I will be attending. Then, sadly, I depart tomorrow morning at 8am for Rome, and thence home at 2. I got an email from HEather at work to let me know my boss is closing the office early Friday for easter weekend, so I will be working 9-1 after being gone for a week. Paul is awesome.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Liveblogging from Firenze
Is that the appropriate use of the word liveblogging? I don't know, I'm on Carla's bed in her deliciously yellow Florence apartment that's kitty-cornered to the Duomo, absolutely exhausted because we just got back from our three whirlwind days in Venice. Carla's on the phone with Justin telling him how she never walked so much in her life and she is not exaggerating. Our orientation tour in Rome two years ago doesn't even really compare, especially since I made the tactical error of choosing to wear my Converses, which I haven't worn since graduation and which have a curved inside that my feet had apparently become un-accustomed to, thereby causing extraordinary pain and limping in my right foot, despite which we adhered to the magic words of Heather and went hard before we went home. You better believe it.
Holy shit, Venice is amazing. What we experienced on the fateful Carnevale trip was NOTHING. Yesterday we saw the Accademia--you know it's a good museum when you can scamper eagerly from room to room just squealing with the joy of seeing these masterpieces that you never really expected to see up close, like Tintoretto's Feast at the House of Levi which is freaking huge! We got lost ever so many times in Venice's labryinthine streets, aided or not-so-aided by a succession of maps that never seemed to list the very street we were standing in and climbed more bridges than I care to remember. Friday night we arrived as dusk was falling and got lost repeatedly on our way from our hotel to the restaurant recommended by our host (who will be getting a warm review from me on Tripadvisor-- 3 euro Prosecco bottles in the minifridge, what!) and then even more lost as we tried to find our way back to the hotel from Piazza San Marco with perhaps the world's most useless map. Venice is not good for the directionally challenged, or really anyone who's not a local, because streets often terminate abruptly at a canal's edge, or become an alley that becomes a wall, or really just ARE alleys that are completely deserted, narrow, and unlit, making you somewhat concerned for your safety except that there's really not much crime, even of the pickpocketing variety from what I could tell. The crowds might have been heavy for this time of year, but compared to what I remembered from Carnvelae it was breezy.
Oh, and we went on that most touristy of tourist adventures, the overpriced gondola ride down the Grand Canal! It was yesterday afternoon and we had just left the church of the Gesuiti, which was pretty spectacularly in its decoration of inlaid marble-in-marble on every surface, and we headed back for the Accademia bridge, where Carla finally just decided to ask a gondolier (who stand on the bridges trolling for fares and yelling "Gondola! Gondole!") how much it was, to which he responded 80 euro--basically a hundred bucks, way too much for the two of us. However, as luck would have it, an Italian mother and her young daughter were asking the same question at the same time, so the four of us wound up sharing a ride around the Grand Canal/Dorsoduro area. I won't pretend--it was absolutely charming and I loved it. It was so worth 20 euro, just to see the city from the water like wealthy Venetians have been seeing it for centuries.
So it was an incredible time, and Carla and I had a blast even while trying to map ourselves out of the most obsure and abandoned neighborhoods we found ourselves in at night while trying to satisfy a gelato craving, and then most of today with me limping and downing tablets of "Moment," aka Italian ibuprofen. Now we're back and preparing to go out for pizza with Justin. We walked into some kind of soccer riot at the train station--Fiorentina played here today, and the police were out in full riot gear as the fans massed through the station, chanting something about the game. Did they win or lose? Justin will have to tell us. Now the window is open, and amid the crowd's noise and the cards there's a trumpet player on the sidewalk. As Benigni would say, life is beautiful.
Holy shit, Venice is amazing. What we experienced on the fateful Carnevale trip was NOTHING. Yesterday we saw the Accademia--you know it's a good museum when you can scamper eagerly from room to room just squealing with the joy of seeing these masterpieces that you never really expected to see up close, like Tintoretto's Feast at the House of Levi which is freaking huge! We got lost ever so many times in Venice's labryinthine streets, aided or not-so-aided by a succession of maps that never seemed to list the very street we were standing in and climbed more bridges than I care to remember. Friday night we arrived as dusk was falling and got lost repeatedly on our way from our hotel to the restaurant recommended by our host (who will be getting a warm review from me on Tripadvisor-- 3 euro Prosecco bottles in the minifridge, what!) and then even more lost as we tried to find our way back to the hotel from Piazza San Marco with perhaps the world's most useless map. Venice is not good for the directionally challenged, or really anyone who's not a local, because streets often terminate abruptly at a canal's edge, or become an alley that becomes a wall, or really just ARE alleys that are completely deserted, narrow, and unlit, making you somewhat concerned for your safety except that there's really not much crime, even of the pickpocketing variety from what I could tell. The crowds might have been heavy for this time of year, but compared to what I remembered from Carnvelae it was breezy.
Oh, and we went on that most touristy of tourist adventures, the overpriced gondola ride down the Grand Canal! It was yesterday afternoon and we had just left the church of the Gesuiti, which was pretty spectacularly in its decoration of inlaid marble-in-marble on every surface, and we headed back for the Accademia bridge, where Carla finally just decided to ask a gondolier (who stand on the bridges trolling for fares and yelling "Gondola! Gondole!") how much it was, to which he responded 80 euro--basically a hundred bucks, way too much for the two of us. However, as luck would have it, an Italian mother and her young daughter were asking the same question at the same time, so the four of us wound up sharing a ride around the Grand Canal/Dorsoduro area. I won't pretend--it was absolutely charming and I loved it. It was so worth 20 euro, just to see the city from the water like wealthy Venetians have been seeing it for centuries.
So it was an incredible time, and Carla and I had a blast even while trying to map ourselves out of the most obsure and abandoned neighborhoods we found ourselves in at night while trying to satisfy a gelato craving, and then most of today with me limping and downing tablets of "Moment," aka Italian ibuprofen. Now we're back and preparing to go out for pizza with Justin. We walked into some kind of soccer riot at the train station--Fiorentina played here today, and the police were out in full riot gear as the fans massed through the station, chanting something about the game. Did they win or lose? Justin will have to tell us. Now the window is open, and amid the crowd's noise and the cards there's a trumpet player on the sidewalk. As Benigni would say, life is beautiful.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Leaving On A Jet Plane
At this time tomorrow evening, I should be arriving at JFK for my 10pm flight to Rome. Can I say: Yesssssssssssssssssss. I'm excited to be reunited with the roommate of my life, the Ivory to my Ebony! I can't believe it's been the better part of a year since we saw each other last...May 21st, as I drove away from TH 31. Even better, we won't have to wait another year after this because she has to come home to renew her visa this summer.
I can't wait to explore Venice this weekend, either. Three days in the floating city sans fellow college drunkards and Carnevale crowds! Whoot!
I can't wait to explore Venice this weekend, either. Three days in the floating city sans fellow college drunkards and Carnevale crowds! Whoot!
Monday, March 10, 2008
My Boss Is Awesome
Heather, Megan and I called ourselves "the three blind mice" these past few weeks as we attempted to run a law firm without any lawyers in the office due to conferences and a trial. This involved subterfuge of the sort of calling courts and pretending to be attorneys filing from Rhode Island or something so we could ask for directions without looking like complete idiots. Apparently, it all came together pretty well, because my boss was so grateful for our collective efforts that he's giving the three of us a day off with the activity of our choice--Broadway, a concert, a day at the spa, or whatever we can come up with. Booyah! I'm aiming to schedule this day of delight for next Friday....I come back from Italy on Wednesday and I took Thursday off anyway, so I'd love to just round out the entire week. Can I just say that my boss is frickin' awesome?
Friday, March 07, 2008
The Score is Now 4-1
Guess who got rejected from Emory? Me! Therefore, I cheerily give a big F*** You to Atlanta, Georgia.
Thursday, March 06, 2008
The Longer Version
Today is such a beautiful day! Never mind that it's only 36 degrees outside. The sky is clear, it feels warmer than it is, and Sean got into Notre Dame!
OK, the last one is non-meteorological, but it definitely heightens today's wonderfulness. Let's ignore the part where Sean's going off to South Bend, Indiana for two years (whereas I will definitely be on the East Coast, whether I wind up in Jersey, Philly, or New York) and focus on the fact that out of 150 applications, Notre Dame's website says they only took about 20. That's how fabulous Sean is at whatever Biblical stuff it is that he does! Let's also focus on the fact that Notre Dame offers free tuition to all its Master's students, which is apparently made possible because of the Fighting Irish and their ability to attract the munificence of alumni. So not only is he going, he's going for free!
His mom has mentioned several times how wonderful it would be if we were both at Notre Dame together. I did get accepted to the art history Master's program there, which is also free; however, since I also have offers for four years of funding at Temple and Rutgers' PhD programs, it doesn't make much sense for me to go into a Master's program. The faculty there is also not of great interest to me. I applied there because I was worried I wouldn't get into any PhD programs, and I figured if I was going to wind up in a Master's program, it might as well be the same one as my boyfriend. Alas, that is not to be, but it's OK. We'll make it work. I have faith in that, just as I had faith that he would get into Notre Dame. Sean has Mrs. D pulling for him up there--how could he lose?
So now I can go to Italy next week (six days away!) with a light heart. I'm still waiting to hear from six of the ten schools I applied to. My list:
Accepted Programs
Temple (PhD)
Rutgers (PhD)
University of Maryland (PhD)
Notre Dame (MA)
Still Waiting
Columbia
Princeton
NYU-IFA
Emory
BU
UMass
My fingers will remain crossed for now.
OK, the last one is non-meteorological, but it definitely heightens today's wonderfulness. Let's ignore the part where Sean's going off to South Bend, Indiana for two years (whereas I will definitely be on the East Coast, whether I wind up in Jersey, Philly, or New York) and focus on the fact that out of 150 applications, Notre Dame's website says they only took about 20. That's how fabulous Sean is at whatever Biblical stuff it is that he does! Let's also focus on the fact that Notre Dame offers free tuition to all its Master's students, which is apparently made possible because of the Fighting Irish and their ability to attract the munificence of alumni. So not only is he going, he's going for free!
His mom has mentioned several times how wonderful it would be if we were both at Notre Dame together. I did get accepted to the art history Master's program there, which is also free; however, since I also have offers for four years of funding at Temple and Rutgers' PhD programs, it doesn't make much sense for me to go into a Master's program. The faculty there is also not of great interest to me. I applied there because I was worried I wouldn't get into any PhD programs, and I figured if I was going to wind up in a Master's program, it might as well be the same one as my boyfriend. Alas, that is not to be, but it's OK. We'll make it work. I have faith in that, just as I had faith that he would get into Notre Dame. Sean has Mrs. D pulling for him up there--how could he lose?
So now I can go to Italy next week (six days away!) with a light heart. I'm still waiting to hear from six of the ten schools I applied to. My list:
Accepted Programs
Temple (PhD)
Rutgers (PhD)
University of Maryland (PhD)
Notre Dame (MA)
Still Waiting
Columbia
Princeton
NYU-IFA
Emory
BU
UMass
My fingers will remain crossed for now.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
A Week and A Day...
A week from tomorrow! Oh, I don't know how the time in between is ever going to pass...probably with me anxiously watching the weather reports predicting rain in New York the night of my departure, and debating whether I should bring my green coat given the colder temperatures in Venice, or leave it behind.
I may be able to meet up with a graduate student from Temple University while we're in Venice. One of the professors I've been in contact with there made a point of telling me all the preferments and opportunities she's been able to wrangle for her students, in the same way you might hold out a tasty nugget of cheese to a mouse. Included in this was a first year student who is spending her spring semester at Duke University's Venice campus, so I asked the professor to see if she'd be interested in meeting me while I'm there. I'm sure Carla will be thrilled to know there's a chance that I could be living in Italy again by this time next year...and I'm equally sure that Sean would grumble about all the time I've been getting to spend in Europe, lol. In addition, I'm not sure how desirable living in Venice actually is--it's cold and damp and they get bright sunlight like, five days out of the year. Florence, you were so perfect.
This weekend Sean and I went to a winery in Sandy Hook, CT that was tucked away--really, really tucked--down this one-lane dirt road that led to the most marvelous little gem of a farm and vineyard, isolated and beautiful. It's part of Connecticut's Wine Trail. Anyway, the old man who was there and who poured us wine for the tasting turned out to have once lived in Fiesole, the little town above Florence that provided such excellent panoramic views of the Italian sunset. He told me that Florentines are very argumentative, and he remembered getting into lots of fights with them. He has owned the vineyard since 1979, and I couldn't help but wonder if his desire to start a vineyard in Connecticut was inspired by the memory of those Tusacan hills, covered with soldierly rows of staked-up vines. The motto of the vineyard (McLaughlin's, if you're ever out that way) was "In vinis veritas," a variant on the familiar 'in wine, truth'--here, 'in wines, truth.'
I may be able to meet up with a graduate student from Temple University while we're in Venice. One of the professors I've been in contact with there made a point of telling me all the preferments and opportunities she's been able to wrangle for her students, in the same way you might hold out a tasty nugget of cheese to a mouse. Included in this was a first year student who is spending her spring semester at Duke University's Venice campus, so I asked the professor to see if she'd be interested in meeting me while I'm there. I'm sure Carla will be thrilled to know there's a chance that I could be living in Italy again by this time next year...and I'm equally sure that Sean would grumble about all the time I've been getting to spend in Europe, lol. In addition, I'm not sure how desirable living in Venice actually is--it's cold and damp and they get bright sunlight like, five days out of the year. Florence, you were so perfect.
This weekend Sean and I went to a winery in Sandy Hook, CT that was tucked away--really, really tucked--down this one-lane dirt road that led to the most marvelous little gem of a farm and vineyard, isolated and beautiful. It's part of Connecticut's Wine Trail. Anyway, the old man who was there and who poured us wine for the tasting turned out to have once lived in Fiesole, the little town above Florence that provided such excellent panoramic views of the Italian sunset. He told me that Florentines are very argumentative, and he remembered getting into lots of fights with them. He has owned the vineyard since 1979, and I couldn't help but wonder if his desire to start a vineyard in Connecticut was inspired by the memory of those Tusacan hills, covered with soldierly rows of staked-up vines. The motto of the vineyard (McLaughlin's, if you're ever out that way) was "In vinis veritas," a variant on the familiar 'in wine, truth'--here, 'in wines, truth.'
Sunday, March 02, 2008
Travel
It's finally March!Ten days till I depart for Italy's golden shores. I can't even believe I bought my ticket all the way back at the end of October. I have been patient, I tell you. Patient!
My aunt, uncle and cousin just returned from Florence where they visited my cousin Sara. She's studying abroad through the same program I did, and living in the piazza with the central market. I keep forgetting to tell her that there's an international food shop in that piazza that sells the Syrian bread our grandparents always had in the house. We got it from a store called Homsy's in Massachusetts, but it closed, and I had never seen it sold anywhere else till then. Pita bread is what people usually think of as Middle Eastern bread, but that's thick and I find it gross. Syrian bread is large, thin loaves, probably a foot in diameter, and they have the most delicious bready taste! I used to love the ones that were a little blackened from the oven on the bottom. I had a very particular method of eating them, too--I'd nibble around the edge until I could separate the two sides, then I'd eat the top first and finish with the bottom. Oh, memories. Damn, I can't wait to get back there and buy some of that bread. A euro a bag!
Speaking of euros, oh, how dismal is the exchange rate in Europe right now. Geez, I thought it was bad last time! Fifteen hundred dollars yields about 975 euros. That's ridiculous. I was reading a travel magazine yesterday that recommended places where the dollar is still strong, but it was mostly places I either a) don't want to go, like South America and Switzerland, or b) can't go, in practical terms, like the Middle East. Just my luck of all the Middle Eastern countries, Egypt would be the most expensive (one of the many reasons I keep pushing Turkey as our next journey to Sean, but he stubbornly insists that he must complete his ancient world triad by visiting the land of the pharaohs).
Speaking of Sean, he's going on a trip too! He bought a ticket for Ireland in April. He's going to explore the southern and southwestern portions of Ireland. So far the rough itinerary we've figured out is that he'll fly into Limerick and spend a night there, then stop in Tipperary on his way to spending a night in Cahir, followed by two nights in Kilkenny, a night in Cork, a night in Killarney, a night in Adare (which claims to be Ireland's most adorable village) and then another night in Limerick before he flies home. I have to admit that I have never had any desire to visit Ireland, and a couple of nights spent looking at guidebooks to this country really hasn't altered that in any way. So, as I've told Sean, I'm glad he can get this trip out of his system and not pester me to go later. Of course, he responded by asking if I'd ever want to go to Scotland, because he has the idea one should visit all the lands of one's heritage. Um, just as I'm not really going to be undertaking a trip to Damascus anytime soon, I really don't feel the night to brush up on my Scots-Irish background either. Sean promised to lift a glass for Mrs. D (nee Hennessey) while he's in Cork, which is apparently where her father's family was from (I remember this only because she, like so many other Irish people, liked to put little stickers on their cars with the arms of the county they were from; I remember thinking County Cork was a silly name). I'm sure she'd be thrilled he's going if she were still here. She even tried to suggest to me when I was a freshman that I should add an Irish Studies minor. I remember looking at her, completely blank, and saying "Why?" Yeah, I'm surprised the black lightning from on high hasn't fried me yet for all the Irish-mockery I've been directing at Sean these past few days. All in fun, Mom, all in fun. Erin go bragh....or something.
My aunt, uncle and cousin just returned from Florence where they visited my cousin Sara. She's studying abroad through the same program I did, and living in the piazza with the central market. I keep forgetting to tell her that there's an international food shop in that piazza that sells the Syrian bread our grandparents always had in the house. We got it from a store called Homsy's in Massachusetts, but it closed, and I had never seen it sold anywhere else till then. Pita bread is what people usually think of as Middle Eastern bread, but that's thick and I find it gross. Syrian bread is large, thin loaves, probably a foot in diameter, and they have the most delicious bready taste! I used to love the ones that were a little blackened from the oven on the bottom. I had a very particular method of eating them, too--I'd nibble around the edge until I could separate the two sides, then I'd eat the top first and finish with the bottom. Oh, memories. Damn, I can't wait to get back there and buy some of that bread. A euro a bag!
Speaking of euros, oh, how dismal is the exchange rate in Europe right now. Geez, I thought it was bad last time! Fifteen hundred dollars yields about 975 euros. That's ridiculous. I was reading a travel magazine yesterday that recommended places where the dollar is still strong, but it was mostly places I either a) don't want to go, like South America and Switzerland, or b) can't go, in practical terms, like the Middle East. Just my luck of all the Middle Eastern countries, Egypt would be the most expensive (one of the many reasons I keep pushing Turkey as our next journey to Sean, but he stubbornly insists that he must complete his ancient world triad by visiting the land of the pharaohs).
Speaking of Sean, he's going on a trip too! He bought a ticket for Ireland in April. He's going to explore the southern and southwestern portions of Ireland. So far the rough itinerary we've figured out is that he'll fly into Limerick and spend a night there, then stop in Tipperary on his way to spending a night in Cahir, followed by two nights in Kilkenny, a night in Cork, a night in Killarney, a night in Adare (which claims to be Ireland's most adorable village) and then another night in Limerick before he flies home. I have to admit that I have never had any desire to visit Ireland, and a couple of nights spent looking at guidebooks to this country really hasn't altered that in any way. So, as I've told Sean, I'm glad he can get this trip out of his system and not pester me to go later. Of course, he responded by asking if I'd ever want to go to Scotland, because he has the idea one should visit all the lands of one's heritage. Um, just as I'm not really going to be undertaking a trip to Damascus anytime soon, I really don't feel the night to brush up on my Scots-Irish background either. Sean promised to lift a glass for Mrs. D (nee Hennessey) while he's in Cork, which is apparently where her father's family was from (I remember this only because she, like so many other Irish people, liked to put little stickers on their cars with the arms of the county they were from; I remember thinking County Cork was a silly name). I'm sure she'd be thrilled he's going if she were still here. She even tried to suggest to me when I was a freshman that I should add an Irish Studies minor. I remember looking at her, completely blank, and saying "Why?" Yeah, I'm surprised the black lightning from on high hasn't fried me yet for all the Irish-mockery I've been directing at Sean these past few days. All in fun, Mom, all in fun. Erin go bragh....or something.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
And On the Third Day...
For the past two days I've been engaged in the semi-glorious pursuit of doing absolutely nothing. The perfectly-timed snowstorm Friday morning earned me a day off from work,and Sean's trip down to North Carolina left me without any distinct plans for the weekend. At first I reacted with the idea that I had to find something to DO or my head would explode, but that's really not true. There have certainly been a few moments of boredom, but between books (I read Freakonomics yesterday, and just started on a biography of Phillip II) and some illegally downloaded movies (No Country for Old Men was as good as the reviews said) I've been managing pretty well.
In fact, the only real irritant to me this whole time has been the antics of my third-floor neighbor, he of the cutsey Mini Cooper and annoying girlfriend with whom he engaged in a post-Valentine's day screaming match last Friday night when Jen was here. I hung up on Sean so that I could better eavesdrop--not too difficult, since in a house this old the sounds travel fairly well from on high. Apparently he ruined Valentine's day for her (their fourth together, I learned) by not getting her the flowers she wanted, and he foolishly countered by claiming he 'doesn't do holidays'. I've heard a couple of other arguments since then, although they've certainly reconciled, if the moaning coming from his apartment upon my return from grocery shopping yesterday was any indication.
Anyway, I've never even spoken to this guy or his girlfriend, but now that I've spent two days listening to the heavy footfalls of the two of them above my head and their constant tramping up and down the squeaky, noisy stairs(another downside to being able to hear so well) I want to spray them both with a hose. Or put flaming dog poop outside his door--except that the door to his upper apartment is on the same landing as my own, so that might backfire. Apparently I've just never been here long enough consecutively on a weekend to realize how annoying he IS.
And speak of the devil, who just tramped noisily past my door with the obnoxious significant other? I think I'm going to go enjoy some quiet reading time before they come back.
In fact, the only real irritant to me this whole time has been the antics of my third-floor neighbor, he of the cutsey Mini Cooper and annoying girlfriend with whom he engaged in a post-Valentine's day screaming match last Friday night when Jen was here. I hung up on Sean so that I could better eavesdrop--not too difficult, since in a house this old the sounds travel fairly well from on high. Apparently he ruined Valentine's day for her (their fourth together, I learned) by not getting her the flowers she wanted, and he foolishly countered by claiming he 'doesn't do holidays'. I've heard a couple of other arguments since then, although they've certainly reconciled, if the moaning coming from his apartment upon my return from grocery shopping yesterday was any indication.
Anyway, I've never even spoken to this guy or his girlfriend, but now that I've spent two days listening to the heavy footfalls of the two of them above my head and their constant tramping up and down the squeaky, noisy stairs(another downside to being able to hear so well) I want to spray them both with a hose. Or put flaming dog poop outside his door--except that the door to his upper apartment is on the same landing as my own, so that might backfire. Apparently I've just never been here long enough consecutively on a weekend to realize how annoying he IS.
And speak of the devil, who just tramped noisily past my door with the obnoxious significant other? I think I'm going to go enjoy some quiet reading time before they come back.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Progressive Emotions Upon Considering a Graduate School
First, there was a serious level of excitement when I found out I’d been accepted at Temple, which was quickly compounded by joy when they told me they would recommend me for a four-year fellowship. Then there was hesitation when I discovered that I had to tell them my decision by the beginning of March—before the response deadlines for most of the other schools I applied to. This was followed by severe dismay at receiving a letter from the dean requiring me to submit a deposit by February 22, and then by irritation at seeing that Temple is party to an agreement among graduate schools that requires applicants be given at least 30 days to accept any admissions or funding offer. Next came trepidation and anxiety as I emailed Temple to turn down their offer, even though I hadn’t heard from any other schools.
Finally, last night came the surprising twist, when the professor I emailed at Temple responded to tell me she “just found out” that I can have until April 15 to decide, and would I like to remain in the running? A little fishy, right? Especially considering that letter from the dean had February 22 on it in bold-face type. Sean thinks I called their bluff on not giving people enough time to make up their minds and they backed down. Still, I won't look too closely at the gift horse's mouth.
Finally, last night came the surprising twist, when the professor I emailed at Temple responded to tell me she “just found out” that I can have until April 15 to decide, and would I like to remain in the running? A little fishy, right? Especially considering that letter from the dean had February 22 on it in bold-face type. Sean thinks I called their bluff on not giving people enough time to make up their minds and they backed down. Still, I won't look too closely at the gift horse's mouth.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Why I Love Freecycle
Mainly because I can find new homes for a graphing calculator, a Spanish-language Wake the Wizard game, a DSL modem and a Franklin mint model stagecoach, all in the space of about forty-five minutes.
Friday, February 08, 2008
One Down, Nine to Go
I got into Temple! I got an email on Wednesday from one of the professors there. She's going to be calling me in about an hour, actually, and I'm still not entirely sure what I'm going to say. They're nominating me for a scholarship that would carry full tuition plus a stipend for four years, which is awesome, except she wants my assurance that I'm interested in Temple enough to accept if they give me the scholarship. The problem is, Temple's kind of low of my list of schools, and I might not hear from the others for a month or more. I asked Jesus' advice and he told me to stall for time, and to tell them I'm waiting to hear from a "couple" (his emphasis) of other schools--not the nine I'm actually waiting on.
In other good news, I emailed a professor at Rutgers to see if she's going to their open house next Thursday, and she replied that she'd really like to meet me, and that she was impressed by my application! Whoot! Now all I'd like is to hear those words coming from the mouth of a certain professor at Columbia, and maybe one at NYU, and then I will be incredibly, incredibly joyous.
My sister informs me that I'm not allowed to go to Notre Dame, because it's 12 hours west of here and she wants me "within bus-trip range." Lol. Sisterly affection.
In other good news, I emailed a professor at Rutgers to see if she's going to their open house next Thursday, and she replied that she'd really like to meet me, and that she was impressed by my application! Whoot! Now all I'd like is to hear those words coming from the mouth of a certain professor at Columbia, and maybe one at NYU, and then I will be incredibly, incredibly joyous.
My sister informs me that I'm not allowed to go to Notre Dame, because it's 12 hours west of here and she wants me "within bus-trip range." Lol. Sisterly affection.
Courtesy of Rae
GOODBYE TO ALL THAT (#2) by Robin Morgan
"Goodbye To All That" was my (in)famous 1970 essay breaking free from a politics of accommodation especially affecting women (for an online version, see http://blog.fair-use.org/category/chicago/).
During my decades in civil-rights, anti-war, and contemporary women's movements, I've avoided writing another specific "Goodbye . . .". But not since the suffrage struggle have two communities--the joint conscience-keepers of this country--been so set in competition, as the contest between Hillary Rodham Clinton (HRC) and Barack Obama (BO) unfurls. So.
Goodbye to the double standard . . .
--Hillary is too ballsy but too womanly, a Snow Maiden who's emotional, and so much a politician as to be unfit for politics.
--She's "ambitious" but he shows "fire in the belly." (Ever had labor pains? )
--When a sexist idiot screamed "Iron my shirt!" at HRC, it was considered amusing; if a racist idiot shouted "Shine my shoes!" at BO, it would've inspired hours of airtime and pages of newsprint analyzing our national dishonor.
--Young political Kennedys--Kathleen, Kerry, and Bobby Jr.--all endorsed Hillary. Sen. Ted, age 76, endorsed Obama. If the situation were reversed, pundits would snort "See? Ted and establishment types back her, but the forward-looking generation backs him." (Personally, I'm unimpressed with Caroline's longing for the Return of the Fathers. Unlike the rest of the world, Americans have short memories. Me, I still recall Marilyn Monroe's suicide, and a dead girl named Mary Jo Kopechne in Chappaquiddick.)
Goodbye to the toxic viciousness . . .
Carl Bernstein's disgust at Hillary's "thick ankles." Nixon-trickster Roger Stone's new Hillary-hating 527 group, "Citizens United Not Timid" (check the capital letters). John McCain answering "How do we beat the bitch?" with "Excellent question!" Would he have dared reply similarly to "How do we beat the black bastard?" For shame.
Goodbye to the HRC nutcracker with metal spikes between splayed thighs. If it was a tap-dancing blackface doll, we would be righteously outraged—and they would not be selling it in airports. Shame.
Goodbye to the most intimately violent T-shirts in election history, including one with the murderous slogan "If Only Hillary had married O.J. Instead!" Shame.
Goodbye to Comedy Central's "Southpark" featuring a storyline in which terrorists secrete a bomb in HRC's vagina. I refuse to wrench my brain down into the gutter far enough to find a race-based comparison. For shame.
Goodbye to the sick, malicious idea that this is funny. This is not "Clinton hating," not "Hillary hating." This is sociopathic woman-hating. If it were about Jews, we would recognize it instantly as anti-Semitic propaganda; if about race, as KKK poison. Hell, PETA would go ballistic if such vomitous spew were directed at animals. Where is our sense of outrage—as citizens, voters, Americans?
Goodbye to the news-coverage target-practice . . .
The women's movement and Media Matters wrung an apology from MSNBC's Chris Matthews for relentless misogynistic comments (www.womensmediacenter.com). But what about NBC's Tim Russert's continual sexist asides and his all-white-male panels pontificating on race and gender? Or CNN's Tony Harris chuckling at "the chromosome thing" while interviewing a woman from The White House Project? And that's not even mentioning Fox News.
Goodbye to pretending the black community is entirely male and all women are white . . .
Surprise! Women exist in all opinions, pigmentations, ethnicities, abilities, sexual preferences, and ages--not only African American and European American but Latina and Native American, Asian American and Pacific Islanders, Arab American and—hey, every group, because a group wouldn't be alive if we hadn't given birth to it. A few non-racist countries may exist--but sexism is everywhere. No matter how many ways a woman breaks free from other oppressions, she remains a female human being in a world still so patriarchal that it's the "norm."
So why should all women not be as justly proud of our womanhood and the centuries, even millennia, of struggle that got us this far, as black Americans, women and men, are justly proud of their struggles?
Goodbye to a campaign where he has to pass as white (which whites—especially wealthy ones--adore), while she has to pass as male (which both men and women demanded of her, and then found unforgivable). If she were black or he were female we wouldn't be having such problems, and I for one would be in heaven. But at present such a candidate wouldn't stand a chance—even if she shared Condi Rice's Bush-defending politics.
I was celebrating the pivotal power at last focused on African American women deciding on which of two candidates to bestow their vote--until a number of Hillary-supporting black feminists told me they're being called "race traitors."
So goodbye to conversations about this nation's deepest scar—slavery—which fail to acknowledge that labor- and sexual-slavery exist today in the US and elsewhere on this planet, and the majority of those enslaved are women.
Women have endured sex/race/ethnic/religious hatred, rape and battery, invasion of spirit and flesh, forced pregnancy; being the majority of the poor, the illiterate, the disabled, of refugees, caregivers, the HIV/AIDS afflicted, the powerless. We have survived invisibility, ridicule, religious fundamentalisms, polygamy, teargas, forced feedings, jails, asylums, sati, purdah, female genital mutilation, witch burnings, stonings, and attempted gynocides. We have tried reason, persuasion, reassurances, and being extra-qualified, only to learn it never was about qualifications after all. We know that at this historical moment women experience the world differently from men--though not all the same as one another--and can govern differently, from Elizabeth Tudor to Michele Bachelet and Ellen Johnson Sirleaf.
We remember when Shirley Chisholm and Patricia Schroeder ran for this high office and barely got past the gate—they showed too much passion, raised too little cash, were joke fodder. Goodbye to all that. (And goodbye to some feminists so famished for a female president they were even willing to abandon women's rights in backing Elizabeth Dole.)
Goodbye, goodbye to . . .
--blaming anything Bill Clinton does on Hillary (even including his womanizing like the Kennedy guys--though unlike them, he got reported on). Let's get real. If he hadn't campaigned strongly for her everyone would cluck over what that meant. Enough of Bill and Teddy Kennedy locking their alpha male horns while Hillary pays for it.
--an era when parts of the populace feel so disaffected by politics that a comparative lack of knowledge, experience, and skill is actually seen as attractive, when celebrity-culture mania now infects our elections so that it's "cooler" to glow with marquee charisma than to understand the vast global complexities of power on a nuclear, wounded planet.
--the notion that it's fun to elect a handsome, cocky president who feels he can learn on the job, goodbye to George W. Bush and the destruction brought by his inexperience, ignorance, and arrogance.
Goodbye to the accusation that HRC acts "entitled" when she's worked intensely at everything she's done—including being a nose-to-the-grindstone, first-rate senator from my state.
Goodbye to her being exploited as a Rorschach test by women who reduce her to a blank screen on which they project their own fears, failures, fantasies.
Goodbye to the phrase "polarizing figure" to describe someone who embodies the transitions women have made in the last century and are poised to make in this one. It was the women's movement that quipped, " We are becoming the men we wanted to marry." She heard us, and she has.
Goodbye to some women letting history pass by while wringing their hands, because Hillary isn't as "likeable" as they've been warned they must be, or because she didn't leave him, couldn't "control" him, kept her family together and raised a smart, sane daughter. (Think of the blame if Chelsea had ever acted in the alcoholic, neurotic manner of the Bush twins!) Goodbye to some women pouting because she didn't bake cookies or she did, sniping because she learned the rules and then bent or broke them. Grow the hell up. She is not running for Ms.-perfect-pure-queen-icon of the feminist movement. She is running to be President of the United States.
Goodbye to the shocking American ignorance of our own and other countries' history. Margaret Thatcher and Golda Meir rose through party ranks and war, positioning themselves as proto-male leaders. Almost all other female heads of government so far have been related to men of power—granddaughters, daughters, sisters, wives, widows: Gandhi, Bandaranike, Bhutto, Aquino, Chamorro, Wazed, Macapagal-Arroyo, Johnson Sirleaf, Bachelet, Kirchner, and more. Even in our "land of opportunity," it's mostly the first pathway "in" permitted to women: Reps. Doris Matsui and Mary Bono and Sala Burton; Sen. Jean Carnahan . . . far too many to list here.
Goodbye to a misrepresented generational divide . . .
Goodbye to the so-called spontaneous "Obama Girl" flaunting her bikini-clad ass online—then confessing Oh yeah it wasn't her idea after all, some guys got her to do it and dictated the clothes, which she said "made me feel like a dork."
Goodbye to some young women eager to win male approval by showing they're not feminists (at least not the kind who actually threaten the status quo), who can't identify with a woman candidate because she is unafraid of eeueweeeu yucky power, who fear their boyfriends might look at them funny if they say something good about her. Goodbye to women of any age again feeling unworthy, sulking "what if she's not electable?" or "maybe it's post-feminism and whoooosh we're already free." Let a statement by the magnificent Harriet Tubman stand as reply. When asked how she managed to save hundreds of enslaved African Americans via the Underground Railroad during the Civil War, she replied bitterly, "I could have saved thousands—if only I'd been able to convince them they were slaves."
I'd rather say a joyful Hello to all the glorious young women who do identify with Hillary, and all the brave, smart men—of all ethnicities and any age--who get that it's in their self-interest, too. She's better qualified. (D'uh.) She's a high-profile candidate with an enormous grasp of foreign- and domestic-policy nuance, dedication to detail, ability to absorb staggering insult and personal pain while retaining dignity, resolve, even humor, and keep on keeping on. (Also, yes, dammit, let's hear it for her connections and funding and party-building background, too. Obama was awfully glad about those when she raised dough and campaigned for him to get to the Senate in the first place.)
I'd rather look forward to what a good president he might make in eight years, when his vision and spirit are seasoned by practical know-how--and he'll be all of 54. Meanwhile, goodbye to turning him into a shining knight when actually he's an astute, smooth pol with speechwriters who've worked with the Kennedys' own speechwriter-courtier Ted Sorenson. If it's only about ringing rhetoric, let speechwriters run. But isn't it about getting the policies we want enacted?
And goodbye to the ageism . . .
How dare anyone unilaterally decide when to turn the page on history, papering over real inequities and suffering constituencies in the promise of a feel-good campaign? How dare anyone claim to unify while dividing, or think that to rouse US youth from torpor it's useful to triage the single largest demographic in this country's history: the boomer generation--the majority of which is female?
Older woman are the one group that doesn't grow more conservative with age—and we are the generation of radicals who said "Well-behaved women seldom make history." Goodbye to going gently into any goodnight any man prescribes for us. We are the women who changed the reality of the United States. And though we never went away, brace yourselves: we're back!
We are the women who brought this country equal credit, better pay, affirmative action, the concept of a family-focused workplace; the women who established rape-crisis centers and battery shelters, marital-rape and date-rape laws; the women who defended lesbian custody rights, who fought for prison reform, founded the peace and environmental movements; who insisted that medical research include female anatomy, who inspired men to become more nurturing parents, who created women's studies and Title IX so we all could cheer the WNBA stars and Mia Hamm. We are the women who reclaimed sexuality from violent pornography, who put child care on the national agenda, who transformed demographics, artistic expression, language itself. We are the women who forged a worldwide movement. We are the proud successors of women who, though it took more than 50 years, won us the vote.
We are the women who now comprise the majority of US voters.
Hillary said she found her own voice in New Hampshire. There's not a woman alive who, if she's honest, doesn't recognize what she means. Then HRC got drowned out by campaign experts, Bill, and media's obsession with All Things Bill.
So listen to her voice:
"For too long, the history of women has been a history of silence. Even today, there are those who are trying to silence our words.
"It is a violation of human rights when babies are denied food, or drowned, or suffocated, or their spines broken, simply because they are born girls. It is a violation of human rights when woman and girls are sold into the slavery of prostitution. It is a violation of human rights when women are doused with gasoline, set on fire and burned to death because their marriage dowries are deemed too small. It is a violation of human rights when individual women are raped in their own communities and when thousands of women are subjected to rape as a tactic or prize of war. It is a violation of human rights when a leading cause of death worldwide along women ages 14 to 44 is the violence they are subjected to in their own homes. It is a violation of human rights when women are denied the right to plan their own families, and that includes being forced to have abortions or being sterilized against their will.
"Women's rights are human rights. Among those rights are the right to speak freely--and the right to be heard."
That was Hillary Rodham Clinton defying the US State Department and the Chinese Government at the 1995 UN World Conference on Women in Beijing (the full, stunning speech: http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/hillaryclintonbeijingspeech.htm).
And this voice, age 22, in "Commencement Remarks of Hillary D. Rodham, President of Wellesley College Government Association, Class of 1969" (full speech: http://www.wellesley.edu/PublicAffairs/Commencement/1969/053169hillary.html)
"We are, all of us, exploring a world none of us understands. . . . searching for a more immediate, ecstatic, and penetrating mode of living. . . . [for the] integrity, the courage to be whole, living in relation to one another in the full poetry of existence. The struggle for an integrated life existing in an atmosphere of communal trust and respect is one with desperately important political and social consequences. . . . Fear is always with us, but we just don't have time for it."
She ended with the commitment "to practice, with all the skill of our being: the art of making possible."
And for decades, she's been learning how.
So goodbye to Hillary's second-guessing herself. The real question is deeper than her re-finding her voice. Can we women find ours? Can we do this for ourselves? "Our President, Ourselves!"
Time is short and the contest tightening. We need to rise in furious energy--as we did when courageous Anita Hill was so vilely treated in the US Senate, as we did when desperate Rosie Jiminez was butchered by an illegal abortion, as we did and do for women globally who are condemned for trying to break through. We need to win, this time. Goodbye to supporting HRC tepidly, with ambivalent caveats and apologetic smiles. Time to volunteer, make phone calls, send emails, donate money, argue, rally, march, shout, vote.
Me? I support Hillary Rodham because she's the best qualified of all candidates running in both parties. I support her because her progressive politics are as strong as her proven ability to withstand what will be a massive right-wing assault in the general election. I support her because she's refreshingly thoughtful, and I'm bloodied from eight years of a jolly "uniter" with ejaculatory politics. I needn't agree with her on every point. I agree with the 97 percent of her positions that are identical with Obama's—and the few where hers are both more practical and to the left of his (like health care). I support her because she's already smashed the first-lady stereotype and made history as a fine senator, and because I believe she will continue to make history not only as the first US woman president, but as a great US president.
As for the "woman thing"?
Me, I'm voting for Hillary not because she's a woman--but because I am.
RM
February 2, 2008
New York City
[Also posted on www.womensmediacenter.com]
Official Site:
www.RobinMorgan.us
"Goodbye To All That" was my (in)famous 1970 essay breaking free from a politics of accommodation especially affecting women (for an online version, see http://blog.fair-use.org/category/chicago/).
During my decades in civil-rights, anti-war, and contemporary women's movements, I've avoided writing another specific "Goodbye . . .". But not since the suffrage struggle have two communities--the joint conscience-keepers of this country--been so set in competition, as the contest between Hillary Rodham Clinton (HRC) and Barack Obama (BO) unfurls. So.
Goodbye to the double standard . . .
--Hillary is too ballsy but too womanly, a Snow Maiden who's emotional, and so much a politician as to be unfit for politics.
--She's "ambitious" but he shows "fire in the belly." (Ever had labor pains? )
--When a sexist idiot screamed "Iron my shirt!" at HRC, it was considered amusing; if a racist idiot shouted "Shine my shoes!" at BO, it would've inspired hours of airtime and pages of newsprint analyzing our national dishonor.
--Young political Kennedys--Kathleen, Kerry, and Bobby Jr.--all endorsed Hillary. Sen. Ted, age 76, endorsed Obama. If the situation were reversed, pundits would snort "See? Ted and establishment types back her, but the forward-looking generation backs him." (Personally, I'm unimpressed with Caroline's longing for the Return of the Fathers. Unlike the rest of the world, Americans have short memories. Me, I still recall Marilyn Monroe's suicide, and a dead girl named Mary Jo Kopechne in Chappaquiddick.)
Goodbye to the toxic viciousness . . .
Carl Bernstein's disgust at Hillary's "thick ankles." Nixon-trickster Roger Stone's new Hillary-hating 527 group, "Citizens United Not Timid" (check the capital letters). John McCain answering "How do we beat the bitch?" with "Excellent question!" Would he have dared reply similarly to "How do we beat the black bastard?" For shame.
Goodbye to the HRC nutcracker with metal spikes between splayed thighs. If it was a tap-dancing blackface doll, we would be righteously outraged—and they would not be selling it in airports. Shame.
Goodbye to the most intimately violent T-shirts in election history, including one with the murderous slogan "If Only Hillary had married O.J. Instead!" Shame.
Goodbye to Comedy Central's "Southpark" featuring a storyline in which terrorists secrete a bomb in HRC's vagina. I refuse to wrench my brain down into the gutter far enough to find a race-based comparison. For shame.
Goodbye to the sick, malicious idea that this is funny. This is not "Clinton hating," not "Hillary hating." This is sociopathic woman-hating. If it were about Jews, we would recognize it instantly as anti-Semitic propaganda; if about race, as KKK poison. Hell, PETA would go ballistic if such vomitous spew were directed at animals. Where is our sense of outrage—as citizens, voters, Americans?
Goodbye to the news-coverage target-practice . . .
The women's movement and Media Matters wrung an apology from MSNBC's Chris Matthews for relentless misogynistic comments (www.womensmediacenter.com). But what about NBC's Tim Russert's continual sexist asides and his all-white-male panels pontificating on race and gender? Or CNN's Tony Harris chuckling at "the chromosome thing" while interviewing a woman from The White House Project? And that's not even mentioning Fox News.
Goodbye to pretending the black community is entirely male and all women are white . . .
Surprise! Women exist in all opinions, pigmentations, ethnicities, abilities, sexual preferences, and ages--not only African American and European American but Latina and Native American, Asian American and Pacific Islanders, Arab American and—hey, every group, because a group wouldn't be alive if we hadn't given birth to it. A few non-racist countries may exist--but sexism is everywhere. No matter how many ways a woman breaks free from other oppressions, she remains a female human being in a world still so patriarchal that it's the "norm."
So why should all women not be as justly proud of our womanhood and the centuries, even millennia, of struggle that got us this far, as black Americans, women and men, are justly proud of their struggles?
Goodbye to a campaign where he has to pass as white (which whites—especially wealthy ones--adore), while she has to pass as male (which both men and women demanded of her, and then found unforgivable). If she were black or he were female we wouldn't be having such problems, and I for one would be in heaven. But at present such a candidate wouldn't stand a chance—even if she shared Condi Rice's Bush-defending politics.
I was celebrating the pivotal power at last focused on African American women deciding on which of two candidates to bestow their vote--until a number of Hillary-supporting black feminists told me they're being called "race traitors."
So goodbye to conversations about this nation's deepest scar—slavery—which fail to acknowledge that labor- and sexual-slavery exist today in the US and elsewhere on this planet, and the majority of those enslaved are women.
Women have endured sex/race/ethnic/religious hatred, rape and battery, invasion of spirit and flesh, forced pregnancy; being the majority of the poor, the illiterate, the disabled, of refugees, caregivers, the HIV/AIDS afflicted, the powerless. We have survived invisibility, ridicule, religious fundamentalisms, polygamy, teargas, forced feedings, jails, asylums, sati, purdah, female genital mutilation, witch burnings, stonings, and attempted gynocides. We have tried reason, persuasion, reassurances, and being extra-qualified, only to learn it never was about qualifications after all. We know that at this historical moment women experience the world differently from men--though not all the same as one another--and can govern differently, from Elizabeth Tudor to Michele Bachelet and Ellen Johnson Sirleaf.
We remember when Shirley Chisholm and Patricia Schroeder ran for this high office and barely got past the gate—they showed too much passion, raised too little cash, were joke fodder. Goodbye to all that. (And goodbye to some feminists so famished for a female president they were even willing to abandon women's rights in backing Elizabeth Dole.)
Goodbye, goodbye to . . .
--blaming anything Bill Clinton does on Hillary (even including his womanizing like the Kennedy guys--though unlike them, he got reported on). Let's get real. If he hadn't campaigned strongly for her everyone would cluck over what that meant. Enough of Bill and Teddy Kennedy locking their alpha male horns while Hillary pays for it.
--an era when parts of the populace feel so disaffected by politics that a comparative lack of knowledge, experience, and skill is actually seen as attractive, when celebrity-culture mania now infects our elections so that it's "cooler" to glow with marquee charisma than to understand the vast global complexities of power on a nuclear, wounded planet.
--the notion that it's fun to elect a handsome, cocky president who feels he can learn on the job, goodbye to George W. Bush and the destruction brought by his inexperience, ignorance, and arrogance.
Goodbye to the accusation that HRC acts "entitled" when she's worked intensely at everything she's done—including being a nose-to-the-grindstone, first-rate senator from my state.
Goodbye to her being exploited as a Rorschach test by women who reduce her to a blank screen on which they project their own fears, failures, fantasies.
Goodbye to the phrase "polarizing figure" to describe someone who embodies the transitions women have made in the last century and are poised to make in this one. It was the women's movement that quipped, " We are becoming the men we wanted to marry." She heard us, and she has.
Goodbye to some women letting history pass by while wringing their hands, because Hillary isn't as "likeable" as they've been warned they must be, or because she didn't leave him, couldn't "control" him, kept her family together and raised a smart, sane daughter. (Think of the blame if Chelsea had ever acted in the alcoholic, neurotic manner of the Bush twins!) Goodbye to some women pouting because she didn't bake cookies or she did, sniping because she learned the rules and then bent or broke them. Grow the hell up. She is not running for Ms.-perfect-pure-queen-icon of the feminist movement. She is running to be President of the United States.
Goodbye to the shocking American ignorance of our own and other countries' history. Margaret Thatcher and Golda Meir rose through party ranks and war, positioning themselves as proto-male leaders. Almost all other female heads of government so far have been related to men of power—granddaughters, daughters, sisters, wives, widows: Gandhi, Bandaranike, Bhutto, Aquino, Chamorro, Wazed, Macapagal-Arroyo, Johnson Sirleaf, Bachelet, Kirchner, and more. Even in our "land of opportunity," it's mostly the first pathway "in" permitted to women: Reps. Doris Matsui and Mary Bono and Sala Burton; Sen. Jean Carnahan . . . far too many to list here.
Goodbye to a misrepresented generational divide . . .
Goodbye to the so-called spontaneous "Obama Girl" flaunting her bikini-clad ass online—then confessing Oh yeah it wasn't her idea after all, some guys got her to do it and dictated the clothes, which she said "made me feel like a dork."
Goodbye to some young women eager to win male approval by showing they're not feminists (at least not the kind who actually threaten the status quo), who can't identify with a woman candidate because she is unafraid of eeueweeeu yucky power, who fear their boyfriends might look at them funny if they say something good about her. Goodbye to women of any age again feeling unworthy, sulking "what if she's not electable?" or "maybe it's post-feminism and whoooosh we're already free." Let a statement by the magnificent Harriet Tubman stand as reply. When asked how she managed to save hundreds of enslaved African Americans via the Underground Railroad during the Civil War, she replied bitterly, "I could have saved thousands—if only I'd been able to convince them they were slaves."
I'd rather say a joyful Hello to all the glorious young women who do identify with Hillary, and all the brave, smart men—of all ethnicities and any age--who get that it's in their self-interest, too. She's better qualified. (D'uh.) She's a high-profile candidate with an enormous grasp of foreign- and domestic-policy nuance, dedication to detail, ability to absorb staggering insult and personal pain while retaining dignity, resolve, even humor, and keep on keeping on. (Also, yes, dammit, let's hear it for her connections and funding and party-building background, too. Obama was awfully glad about those when she raised dough and campaigned for him to get to the Senate in the first place.)
I'd rather look forward to what a good president he might make in eight years, when his vision and spirit are seasoned by practical know-how--and he'll be all of 54. Meanwhile, goodbye to turning him into a shining knight when actually he's an astute, smooth pol with speechwriters who've worked with the Kennedys' own speechwriter-courtier Ted Sorenson. If it's only about ringing rhetoric, let speechwriters run. But isn't it about getting the policies we want enacted?
And goodbye to the ageism . . .
How dare anyone unilaterally decide when to turn the page on history, papering over real inequities and suffering constituencies in the promise of a feel-good campaign? How dare anyone claim to unify while dividing, or think that to rouse US youth from torpor it's useful to triage the single largest demographic in this country's history: the boomer generation--the majority of which is female?
Older woman are the one group that doesn't grow more conservative with age—and we are the generation of radicals who said "Well-behaved women seldom make history." Goodbye to going gently into any goodnight any man prescribes for us. We are the women who changed the reality of the United States. And though we never went away, brace yourselves: we're back!
We are the women who brought this country equal credit, better pay, affirmative action, the concept of a family-focused workplace; the women who established rape-crisis centers and battery shelters, marital-rape and date-rape laws; the women who defended lesbian custody rights, who fought for prison reform, founded the peace and environmental movements; who insisted that medical research include female anatomy, who inspired men to become more nurturing parents, who created women's studies and Title IX so we all could cheer the WNBA stars and Mia Hamm. We are the women who reclaimed sexuality from violent pornography, who put child care on the national agenda, who transformed demographics, artistic expression, language itself. We are the women who forged a worldwide movement. We are the proud successors of women who, though it took more than 50 years, won us the vote.
We are the women who now comprise the majority of US voters.
Hillary said she found her own voice in New Hampshire. There's not a woman alive who, if she's honest, doesn't recognize what she means. Then HRC got drowned out by campaign experts, Bill, and media's obsession with All Things Bill.
So listen to her voice:
"For too long, the history of women has been a history of silence. Even today, there are those who are trying to silence our words.
"It is a violation of human rights when babies are denied food, or drowned, or suffocated, or their spines broken, simply because they are born girls. It is a violation of human rights when woman and girls are sold into the slavery of prostitution. It is a violation of human rights when women are doused with gasoline, set on fire and burned to death because their marriage dowries are deemed too small. It is a violation of human rights when individual women are raped in their own communities and when thousands of women are subjected to rape as a tactic or prize of war. It is a violation of human rights when a leading cause of death worldwide along women ages 14 to 44 is the violence they are subjected to in their own homes. It is a violation of human rights when women are denied the right to plan their own families, and that includes being forced to have abortions or being sterilized against their will.
"Women's rights are human rights. Among those rights are the right to speak freely--and the right to be heard."
That was Hillary Rodham Clinton defying the US State Department and the Chinese Government at the 1995 UN World Conference on Women in Beijing (the full, stunning speech: http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/hillaryclintonbeijingspeech.htm).
And this voice, age 22, in "Commencement Remarks of Hillary D. Rodham, President of Wellesley College Government Association, Class of 1969" (full speech: http://www.wellesley.edu/PublicAffairs/Commencement/1969/053169hillary.html)
"We are, all of us, exploring a world none of us understands. . . . searching for a more immediate, ecstatic, and penetrating mode of living. . . . [for the] integrity, the courage to be whole, living in relation to one another in the full poetry of existence. The struggle for an integrated life existing in an atmosphere of communal trust and respect is one with desperately important political and social consequences. . . . Fear is always with us, but we just don't have time for it."
She ended with the commitment "to practice, with all the skill of our being: the art of making possible."
And for decades, she's been learning how.
So goodbye to Hillary's second-guessing herself. The real question is deeper than her re-finding her voice. Can we women find ours? Can we do this for ourselves? "Our President, Ourselves!"
Time is short and the contest tightening. We need to rise in furious energy--as we did when courageous Anita Hill was so vilely treated in the US Senate, as we did when desperate Rosie Jiminez was butchered by an illegal abortion, as we did and do for women globally who are condemned for trying to break through. We need to win, this time. Goodbye to supporting HRC tepidly, with ambivalent caveats and apologetic smiles. Time to volunteer, make phone calls, send emails, donate money, argue, rally, march, shout, vote.
Me? I support Hillary Rodham because she's the best qualified of all candidates running in both parties. I support her because her progressive politics are as strong as her proven ability to withstand what will be a massive right-wing assault in the general election. I support her because she's refreshingly thoughtful, and I'm bloodied from eight years of a jolly "uniter" with ejaculatory politics. I needn't agree with her on every point. I agree with the 97 percent of her positions that are identical with Obama's—and the few where hers are both more practical and to the left of his (like health care). I support her because she's already smashed the first-lady stereotype and made history as a fine senator, and because I believe she will continue to make history not only as the first US woman president, but as a great US president.
As for the "woman thing"?
Me, I'm voting for Hillary not because she's a woman--but because I am.
RM
February 2, 2008
New York City
[Also posted on www.womensmediacenter.com]
Official Site:
www.RobinMorgan.us
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Artistic Irony
I wrote an entry on February 27, 2006 about the trip we had just taken to Verona and Padua, and about visiting the Basilica of St. Anthony in the latter city. Now, two years later, I'm trying to read a bunch of books by the Rutgers professors I will be meeting next week, and one of them is about the sculptural decoration of the chapel in the basilica that held his body--a ground-breaking series of nine monumental marble friezes that line the chapel's walls, which at the time of their creation were unlike anything else that had been done in Italy since Roman times. I was in that chapel, walking right below those friezes, but I didn't look up. I didn't even know they were there! It was dark and crowded, there was a Mass going on behind us, and I was so taken by the devotional offerings to St. Anthony (my mother's preferred intercessor for all lost items) that I never even shot a glance around the rest of the room. And so I missed my chance to check out a really unique set of sculptures...all I can say is, ARGH.
Monday, February 04, 2008
Aside
Can I just take a moment here to brag about how completely awesome Sean is? On Friday I was perusing the New York Times online and saw an article about an exhibition at the Morgan Library in New York of a bunch of Florentine Master drawings, including Michelangelo, Pontormo, Bronzino, and our favorite rapscallion, Vasari. The next day, Sean reveals that my Valentine’s Day gift is going to be none other than going to New York to see the exhibition. Who has the best boyfriend ever? I do, of course.
Weekend and Trip Planning
This weekend Sean and I went to a winery in Wallingford, CT called Gouveia Vineyards. From the panoramic view of the surrounding fields and mountains, you’d never guess that you were in Connecticut and not Napa Valley. With a little imagination, you could even insert a few cypress trees and think you were in Tuscany. The charm of this place is that it’s like a giant ski lodge on top of a hill where you can buy a bottle of wine, bring your own food (or eat their cheese and crackers, like we did) and hang out for as long as you want. We tried their house white wine, which was surprisingly delicious and only $14 a bottle. It’s definitely a great place to come with a group, as the large numbers of people lounging around attested, but there were also these two women sitting right behind us, armed with a picnic basket, who were already obviously well-entrenched when we arrived and were still there when we left, hours later. As we were leaving, a couple came in carrying a large pizza box. Apparently, as long as you don’t bring in your own alcohol, anything goes. So if any of you are up for a wine-filled jaunt into the center of Connecticut, let me know.
This morning I found a hotel for Carla and I when we travel to Venice (which is T-minus 1 month and 1 week and counting). It’s called Alloggi Barbaria, and it’s in the Castello neighborhood of Venice. I was starting to get worried when I discovered that not only are lodgings in Venice (always a costly city) really expensive in March, it’s also difficult to find something moderately priced when you’re booking a mere month in advance. Plus, at most hotels, prices go up by about 30 euro if you’re staying over a weekend, which we are. I came by this little gem almost by accident, but it proved to be a piece of luck—cheaper than anything else I’d seen, exceedingly well-reviewed on Tripadvisor, my travel gospel, and recommended by Rick Steeves. And it’s actually in Venice! I had almost reconciled myself that we were going to have to stay on Lido—or worse, in Mestre on the mainland. Cheaper, yes, but transportation to Venice proper can be a hassle.
Anyway, you know it’s going to be a great place when the only thing other tourists can find to complain about is that they had to drag their bags up a couple flights of stairs to get there. The first and best hotel we stayed at in Greece, Hotel Byron in Nafplio, was the same. It was up two flights and completely unprepossessing from the outside, and inside we had to walk up three or so more flights to get to our room. So what? To this day I can remember the taste of that jam they served with the hot croissants in the morning in the little breakfast room, where we met an older American couple who had just come from Athens with the student riots going on, and their horror stories of trying to navigate the streets by car. I remember the view of the bay from the window of our tropically pink-orange room, and how I was absolutely freezing but Sean insisted on having the window open. We spent two nights there (two delicious breakfasts!) and it was awesome.
The only thing I’m worried about in Venice is the “acqua alta,” the flooding that can happen during the winter. Apparently, certain confluences of the moon and the winds can send a couple of feet of water into the city, the worst-hit area being S. Marco square because it’s also the lowest point in the city. The city puts up ‘duck-boards,’ walkways above the water that are used by tourists and Venetians alike; otherwise, you just buy a pair of hugely overpriced rubber boots and flounder as best you can. I’ve asked Carla to inquire of some natives as to whether we’ll be particularly at risk in March. Not only would I prefer to buy my boots in Florence where they’ll likely be cheaper, I’d also like to know if my coat is going to wind up below the waterline!
This morning I found a hotel for Carla and I when we travel to Venice (which is T-minus 1 month and 1 week and counting). It’s called Alloggi Barbaria, and it’s in the Castello neighborhood of Venice. I was starting to get worried when I discovered that not only are lodgings in Venice (always a costly city) really expensive in March, it’s also difficult to find something moderately priced when you’re booking a mere month in advance. Plus, at most hotels, prices go up by about 30 euro if you’re staying over a weekend, which we are. I came by this little gem almost by accident, but it proved to be a piece of luck—cheaper than anything else I’d seen, exceedingly well-reviewed on Tripadvisor, my travel gospel, and recommended by Rick Steeves. And it’s actually in Venice! I had almost reconciled myself that we were going to have to stay on Lido—or worse, in Mestre on the mainland. Cheaper, yes, but transportation to Venice proper can be a hassle.
Anyway, you know it’s going to be a great place when the only thing other tourists can find to complain about is that they had to drag their bags up a couple flights of stairs to get there. The first and best hotel we stayed at in Greece, Hotel Byron in Nafplio, was the same. It was up two flights and completely unprepossessing from the outside, and inside we had to walk up three or so more flights to get to our room. So what? To this day I can remember the taste of that jam they served with the hot croissants in the morning in the little breakfast room, where we met an older American couple who had just come from Athens with the student riots going on, and their horror stories of trying to navigate the streets by car. I remember the view of the bay from the window of our tropically pink-orange room, and how I was absolutely freezing but Sean insisted on having the window open. We spent two nights there (two delicious breakfasts!) and it was awesome.
The only thing I’m worried about in Venice is the “acqua alta,” the flooding that can happen during the winter. Apparently, certain confluences of the moon and the winds can send a couple of feet of water into the city, the worst-hit area being S. Marco square because it’s also the lowest point in the city. The city puts up ‘duck-boards,’ walkways above the water that are used by tourists and Venetians alike; otherwise, you just buy a pair of hugely overpriced rubber boots and flounder as best you can. I’ve asked Carla to inquire of some natives as to whether we’ll be particularly at risk in March. Not only would I prefer to buy my boots in Florence where they’ll likely be cheaper, I’d also like to know if my coat is going to wind up below the waterline!
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Sometimes, I Miss a Cul-de-Sac
This morning I knew I would have to get up before 11 because a realtor was bringing prospective buyers around to check out the house. Of course, I didn't expect to be roused from sleep even earlier by the neighbor with the 1970s purple Buick Regal, the engine of which he began busily revving around 10:30, filling our street first with the pleasant strains of drag-racing, and then with the musical stylings of Guns N Roses from the car radio, which was on at a volume that could have convinced me the receiver was in my living room and not outside and across the street. Thank you, sir, for ensuring that I could not possibly oversleep for one minute after you began your automotive ministrations. Without you, I might have been faced with the difficulty of easing myself out of an extremely comfortable bed instead of leaping up to find out which asshole was making so much noise.
Is it just me, or did life on Whitney Circle not start until noon on a Sunday? Day of rest, people. Day of rest.
Is it just me, or did life on Whitney Circle not start until noon on a Sunday? Day of rest, people. Day of rest.
Wednesday, January 09, 2008
Because I Took This Quiz Three Years Ago
| Really Long Survey (over 200) | |
| What is your name?: | Michelle |
| Are you named after anyone?: | No |
| What's your screename?: | n/a |
| Would you name a child of yours after you?: | No |
| If you were born a member of the opposite sex what would your name be?: | Michael |
| If you could switch names with a friend who would it be?: | Meredith |
| Are there any mispronounciations/typos that ppl do w/ your name constantly?: | Not really |
| Would you drop your last name if you became famous?: | I think not. In fact, famous writers/scholars seem to gain names more often than they shed them. Perhaps I shall be Michelle M. DiMarzo, M.Phil/ Ph.D., Supremely Awesome |
| Basics | |
| Your gender:: | F |
| Straight/Gay/Bi:: | S |
| Single?: | No |
| If not, do you want to be?: | No |
| Birthdate:: | 10/1 |
| Your age:: | 22! So old. |
| Age you act:: | Er, 22? |
| Age you wish you were:: | 30, so I could already have my PhD without the pesky work in the interim. |
| Your height:: | 5'8" |
| Eye color:: | Brown |
| Happy with it?: | Yes |
| Hair color:: | Brown |
| Happy with it?: | Again yes |
| Lefty/righty/ambidextrous:: | Lefty |
| Your living arrangement:: | Gloriously living alone |
| Your family:: | All dead! No, seriously, only most of them. Jen's still hanging on! |
| Have any pets?: | By extension, I suppose |
| Whats your job?: | Lawyer's assistant |
| Piercings?: | Ears |
| Tattoos?: | No |
| Obsessions?: | None |
| Addictions?: | Diet Coke |
| Do you speak another language?: | Spanish, sort of |
| Have a favorite quote?: | Not one that I can ever remember |
| Do you have a webpage?: | On it |
| Deep Thoughts About Life and You in it | |
| Do you live in the moment?: | Actually, not as much as I should. |
| Do you consider yourself tolerant of others?: | Yes |
| Do you have any secrets?: | Besides tidbits about myself I might conceal out of mere personal embarassment, no, not really. |
| Do you hate yourself?: | No |
| Do you like your handwriting?: | Yes |
| Do you have any bad habits?: | I tend to leave cans of Diet Coke half-finished and then refuse to drink them because they've gone flat. Also sometimes I throw out soda cans rather than recycling them. |
| What is the compliment you get from most people?: | That I'm intelligent. |
| If a movie was made about your life, what would it be called?: | Huh. I'm quite stumped. I know you're supposed to pattern this after some famous movie, but I can't think of any that apply. "Road to Windsor"? "The Royal DiMarzos"? |
| What's your biggest fear?: | Losing the ones I love. |
| Can you sing?: | Not at all |
| Do you ever pretend to be someone else just to look cool?: | No |
| Are you a loner?: | I have bouts of anti-sociality, but I wouldn't say loner. |
| What are your #1 priorities in life?: | To be happy, to enjoy the company of great friends, and to travel. |
| If you were another person, would you be friends with you?: | How could I pass up friendship with someone so fabulous? |
| Are you a daredevil?: | No |
| Is there anything you fear or hate about yourself?: | Not really |
| Are you passive or agressive?: | Aggressive |
| Do you have a journal?: | Right here |
| What is your greatest strength and weakness?: | Strength of mind, weakness, a tendency towards arrogance/know-it-all-ness |
| If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?: | Sigh...I have to admit it...bigger boobs! |
| Do you think you are emotionally strong?: | Yes |
| Is there anything you regret doing/not doing in life?: | "Regrets, I've had a few..." |
| Do you think life has been good so far?: | I'd say yes, on the whole |
| What is the most important lesson you've learned from life?: | To treasure the ones you love and to make sure they know how much they mean to you. |
| What do you like the most about your body?: | My eyes |
| And least?: | My feet right now, as they are in dire need of a pedicure |
| Do you think you are good looking?: | Yes |
| Are you confident?: | Yes |
| What is the fictional character you are most like?: | Genevieve |
| Are you perceived wrongly?: | Not that I know of |
| Do You... | |
| Smoke?: | Ah, the most boring part of all surveys...No |
| Do drugs?: | No |
| Read the newspaper?: | Yes |
| Pray?: | Yes |
| Go to church?: | No |
| Talk to strangers who IM you?: | No |
| Sleep with stuffed animals?: | No |
| Take walks in the rain?: | Gasp! Precipitation? Never. |
| Talk to people even though you hate them?: | I'd rather force myself to be civil to those I dislike than be ashamed later of being petty. |
| Drive?: | Yes |
| Like to drive fast?: | No |
| Would or Have You Ever? | |
| Liked your voice?: | No |
| Hurt yourself?: | No |
| Been out of the country?: | Yes |
| Eaten something that made other people sick?: | No, but I'm getting a flashback to gross things Bill-something-or-other ate in grade school...Sara, I forgot his last name! |
| Been in love?: | Yes |
| Done drugs?: | No |
| Gone skinny dipping?: | No |
| Had a medical emergency?: | I fainted once |
| Had surgery?: | No |
| Ran away from home?: | No |
| Played strip poker?: | No |
| Gotten beaten up?: | No |
| Beaten someone up?: | No |
| Been picked on?: | No |
| Been on stage?: | No |
| Slept outdoors?: | Yes |
| Thought about suicide?: | No |
| Pulled an all nighter?: | No |
| If yes, what is your record?: | No |
| Gone one day without food?: | No |
| Talked on the phone all night?: | No |
| Slept together with the opposite sex w/o actually having sex?: | Yes |
| Slept all day?: | Yes |
| Killed someone?: | No |
| Made out with a stranger?: | Kind of |
| Had sex with a stranger?: | No |
| Thought you're going crazy?: | No |
| Kissed the same sex?: | Yes |
| Done anything sexual with the same sex?: | Yes |
| Been betrayed?: | Not really |
| Had a dream that came true?: | No |
| Broken the law?: | Yes |
| Met a famous person?: | No |
| Have you ever killed an animal by accident?: | No |
| On purpose?: | No |
| Told a secret you swore you wouldn't tell?: | Yes |
| Stolen anything?: | Not since I was a little kid |
| Been on radio/tv?: | No |
| Been in a mosh-pit?: | Yes |
| Had a nervous breakdown?: | No |
| Bungee jumped?: | No |
| Had a dream that kept coming back?: | Yes |
| Beliefs | |
| Belive in life on other planets?: | I'm not sure, definitely not in our galaxy, but perhaps somewhere |
| Miracles?: | Yes |
| Astrology?: | No |
| Magic?: | No |
| God?: | Yes |
| Satan?: | No |
| Santa?: | No |
| Ghosts?: | No |
| Luck?: | Yes |
| Love at first sight?: | No |
| Yin and yang (that good cant exist w/o bad)?: | Yes |
| Witches?: | No |
| Easter bunny?: | No |
| Believe its possible to remain faithful forever?: | Yes |
| Believe theres a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow?: | No |
| Do you wish on stars?: | Yeah... |
| Deep Theological Questions | |
| Do you believe in the traditional view of Heaven and Hell?: | Not at all |
| Do you think God has a gender?: | No |
| Do you believe in organized religion?: | No |
| Where do you think we go when we die?: | I'm not quite sure |
| Friends | |
| Do you have any gay/lesbian friends?: | Yes |
| Who is your best friend?: | Sean |
| Who's the one person that knows most about you?: | Sean |
| What's the best advice that anyone has ever given to you?: | To keep around me the people who bring light into my life, and avoid those who bring darkness. |
| Your favourite inside joke?: | If I said it, it wouldn't be inside. |
| Thing you're picked on most about?: | Being forgetful |
| Who's your longest known friend?: | Sara |
| Newest?: | Heather C. |
| Shyest?: | Meredith |
| Funniest?: | Heather F. |
| Sweetest?: | Sara |
| Closest?: | Sara, Carla, |
| Weirdest?: | Heather |
| Smartest?: | Rae |
| Ditziest?: | None |
| Friends you miss being close to the most?: | Carla...also I miss Sarah H.'s evil wit |
| Last person you talked to online?: | Carla |
| Who do you talk to most online?: | I only talk to Carla online |
| Who are you on the phone with most?: | Sean |
| Who do you trust most?: | Sean |
| Who listens to your problems?: | All of my friends |
| Who do you fight most with?: | Sean |
| Who's the nicest?: | I'll go with "all of us" :-) |
| Who's the most outgoing?: | Heather |
| Who's the best singer?: | tie--Rae and Carla |
| Who's on your shit-list?: | Haha...no one |
| Have you ever thought of having sex with a friend?: | No |
| Who's your second family?: | My friends from home, my Fairfield friends |
| Do you always feel understood?: | Most of the time |
| Who's the loudest friend?: | Heather |
| Do you trust others easily?: | I think so |
| Who's house were you last at?: | Sean's |
| Name one person who's arms you feel safe in:: | Sean |
| Do your friends know you?: | Yes |
| Friend that lives farthest away:: | Carla. Come back home, you Italian wench! |
| Love and All That | |
| Do you consider love a mistake?: | No |
| What do you find romantic?: | Car rides on winter evenings with a special someone with Bing in the background |
| Turn-on?: | Neck area |
| Turn-off?: | Headache |
| First kiss?: | Aaron? Manuel? I think I'd rather count Manuel. |
| If someone u had no interest in had interest in dating u how would u feel?: | I guess I'd have to say no |
| Do you prefer knowing someone before dating them or going: | Knowing, certainly |
| Have u ever wished it was more socially acceptable 4 a girl 2 ask a guy out: | Well, I've asked several guys out, including Sean, so I see no problem. |
| Have you ever been romantically attracted to someone physically unattractiv: | No |
| Do you think the opposite sex finds you good looking?: | Yes |
| What is best about the opposite sex?: | Their smell |
| What is the worst thing about the opposite sex?: | The Alien! |
| What's the last present someone gave you?: | Christmas presents |
| Are you in love?: | Yes |
| Do you consider your significant other hot?: | Yes |
| Who Was the Last Person... | |
| That haunted you?: | ...my mom? Just kidding. Can't say I've been haunted. |
| You wanted to kill?: | Let's just default to Jen. |
| That you laughed at?: | Sean |
| That laughed at you?: | Heather C. |
| That turned you on?: | Sean |
| You went shopping with?: | Sean, in a forced mall outing |
| That broke your heart?: | No one, really--I hardly consider Tommy as counting, because well, c'mon. |
| To disappoint you?: | Hm. I can't remember. |
| To ask you out?: | Dirk. Wow, blast from the past! |
| To make you cry?: | The last time I cried I think was at Heather's grandfather's funeral |
| To brighten up your day?: | Sean |
| That you thought about?: | Sean |
| You saw a movie with?: | Sean and Linda |
| You talked to on the phone?: | Sean (this is getting positively REPETITVE) |
| You talked to through IM/ICQ?: | Carla |
| You saw?: | Heather C |
| You lost?: | My mom |
| Right This Moment... | |
| Are you going out?: | No |
| Will it be with your significant other?: | No |
| Or some random person?: | No |
| What are you wearing right now?: | PJs |
| Body part you're touching right now:: | My leg |
| What are you worried about right now?: | Sean's car issues |
| What book are you reading?: | Garrison Keillor, Lake Woebegon 1956 |
| What's on your mousepad?: | Don't have one |
| Use 5 words to describe how you're feeling:: | Warm, slightly anxious, otherwise content |
| Are you bored?: | No |
| Are you tired?: | Yes |
| Are you talking to anyone online?: | No |
| Are you talking to anyone on the phone?: | No |
| Are you lonely or content?: | Content |
| Are you listening to music?: | Yes--Kim Kashkashian, a violist and she is incredible |
| Take this survey | Find more surveys Bzoink - The Original Survey Site | |
Tuesday, January 08, 2008
Three Years
Yesterday was my three-year anniversary with Sean. Three years ago, we went to Geppi's and to see "The Life Aquatic" (which sucked). My memory can't be that bad--I still remember our first date! Given, Sean can probably also tell you what we both ate, what we were wearing, and what played in the car on the way to the theater. I can only tell you that I know I've been incredibly blessed to have someone like him in my life.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Benazir Bhutto
I opened Google News this morning and the first headline was 'Bhutto Killed In Attack on Political Rally." I had one of those moments where I didn't exactly process what they were saying, and then I just couldn't believe it. She had just been in the headlines so much these past few months after her return to Pakistan, so many stories on NPR and the Times, that it was surreal to hear that someone had assasinated her. The suicide bomber opened fire on her and her party members before blowing himself up. They said she died of shrapnel wounds at the hospital.
I'm not sure what my opinion of her was before this happened. Obviously, she had some serious balls to go back to Pakistan after years of exile, and she claimed to be committed to bringing democracy back to the country while Musharraf seemed intent on keeping it out. When the stories ran about her return, everyone mentioned the threats against her life, and there was a bomb attack a little while ago that narrowly missed her and killed scores of onlookers, but somehow you it's easy to believe that these famous, powerful figures have some sort of innate protection surrounding them. But they don't. Bhutto was a controversial figure, but she was also that rare thing--a female, Muslim politician in a male-dominated Muslim culture. Now that she's dead, who will take her place?
I'm not sure what my opinion of her was before this happened. Obviously, she had some serious balls to go back to Pakistan after years of exile, and she claimed to be committed to bringing democracy back to the country while Musharraf seemed intent on keeping it out. When the stories ran about her return, everyone mentioned the threats against her life, and there was a bomb attack a little while ago that narrowly missed her and killed scores of onlookers, but somehow you it's easy to believe that these famous, powerful figures have some sort of innate protection surrounding them. But they don't. Bhutto was a controversial figure, but she was also that rare thing--a female, Muslim politician in a male-dominated Muslim culture. Now that she's dead, who will take her place?
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
The Christmas Recap
It was a great weekend to lead up to Christmas--I saw everyone I like, a few people I don't, and not a single family member! We had a dinner party at TJ's on Friday night attended by our Fairfield friends. On Saturday Sara, Rae and I braved the Westfarms mall, Borders, Best Buy, and even Toys R Us (!) in furtherance of certain people's last minute shopping. Actually, the Toys R Us stop was so Sara could purchase a Webkinz, which is a stuffed animal that's part of this online world, kind of like Second Life, but for the anklebiters. Sadly, they were sold out, but Rae, who in addition to being a brilliant med student is also a Webkinz aficionado, was so kind as to introduce us to this charming subculture. Yes, I am being highly sarcastic. On Sunday we saw Sweeney Todd, which further proved my theory that Johnny Depp is just ridiculously awesome. He can play a freaky serial killer with bad teeth and I still want to have his children!
Christmas Eve was spent at Sean's Aunt Michelle's house, where I was treated once again to the full Italian Christmas Eve dinner that is fish, fish and more fish. I have nothing against fish--some nice salmon, trout, cod etc--but I'm not big into stuffed squid, or fried smelts, or scungilli. At least this year I didn't have to see any of the crabs that went into the crab sauce, so I ate that and it was delicious. Linda is the best cook ever, as was proved at Christmas dinner as well.
I think I liked my Christmas gifts the most this year of recent memory--which for someone with my memory skills isn't saying much, but still. Linda and I will be taking a spa trip together soon, perhaps on Sunday...hot stone massage for me!
I know it's ridiculous and corny, but Sean really is the best gift I could ever ask for. I'll even put him slightly above the Pride and Prejudice DVDs I got from Rae (A&E version) and Linda (movie version). Just slightly.
In less than two weeks--three years!
Christmas Eve was spent at Sean's Aunt Michelle's house, where I was treated once again to the full Italian Christmas Eve dinner that is fish, fish and more fish. I have nothing against fish--some nice salmon, trout, cod etc--but I'm not big into stuffed squid, or fried smelts, or scungilli. At least this year I didn't have to see any of the crabs that went into the crab sauce, so I ate that and it was delicious. Linda is the best cook ever, as was proved at Christmas dinner as well.
I think I liked my Christmas gifts the most this year of recent memory--which for someone with my memory skills isn't saying much, but still. Linda and I will be taking a spa trip together soon, perhaps on Sunday...hot stone massage for me!
I know it's ridiculous and corny, but Sean really is the best gift I could ever ask for. I'll even put him slightly above the Pride and Prejudice DVDs I got from Rae (A&E version) and Linda (movie version). Just slightly.
In less than two weeks--three years!
Hide the Chocolate
Imagine my surprise upon arriving to work today, the day after Christmas, to discover that I'm the only one who didn't take the day off. I knew the secretary and two of the attorneys were out, but then I turned on my computer to an email from my boss explaining he'd forgotten to put it in the calendar that he, too, is out, and to 'have a nice wednesday in the office.'
At least it's not like there's a lot I can't do here that I'd be doing at home today anyway. YouTube, anyone? And, no lie, looking at bridal websites. Rae sent me a facebook message informing me that she and Sara spent an hour and a half planning my wedding online last night. Sean and I have agreed to discuss the matter again in April, after we hear about grad school admissions, but that doesn't stop my friends from concocting their schemes of grandeur! It is fun to talk about, but it's also rather frightening to think that you're expected to spend that much time, money and effort on making a single 24-hour period like the best day of your entire life. It seems so ridiculous, and yet who can escape it who does not elope?
Sara came up with a color scheme-brown, cream, and green. She's going to be the resident art director, Rae the on-site medic, and Heather, the master of ceremonies, because really I can only imagine how cracked out on champagne she'll be at that fateful occasion. Rae tells me she has even chosen the song she would like to sing, even though I'm not quite sure I even want singing...nor has Sean weighed in on the matter, but really, how much say do men even have in this process? Sean's already gotten far too comfortable with the word "no" over the past few years. It's time to take bring back the yes!
Jen will, perhaps lamentably, be my maid/matron of honor. But really, for all my griping that it's Sean's latent traditionalism that's forcing me to include her, how could I get married and not have my own sister in the bridal party? It's not like I don't speak to her or anything. She's just going to belch inappropriately, make crude jokes and run around in her underwear, and probably scare the crap out of Sean's brother. I have to know that now and accept it. However, as I told my friends, she is in no way permitted to handle ANY of the actual planning/organizing of showers, bachelorette parties, etc., unless we all want to be eating pigs in a blanket and watching one of Bill's hick cousins dance around in a John Deere cap and nothing else. Seriously.
At least it's not like there's a lot I can't do here that I'd be doing at home today anyway. YouTube, anyone? And, no lie, looking at bridal websites. Rae sent me a facebook message informing me that she and Sara spent an hour and a half planning my wedding online last night. Sean and I have agreed to discuss the matter again in April, after we hear about grad school admissions, but that doesn't stop my friends from concocting their schemes of grandeur! It is fun to talk about, but it's also rather frightening to think that you're expected to spend that much time, money and effort on making a single 24-hour period like the best day of your entire life. It seems so ridiculous, and yet who can escape it who does not elope?
Sara came up with a color scheme-brown, cream, and green. She's going to be the resident art director, Rae the on-site medic, and Heather, the master of ceremonies, because really I can only imagine how cracked out on champagne she'll be at that fateful occasion. Rae tells me she has even chosen the song she would like to sing, even though I'm not quite sure I even want singing...nor has Sean weighed in on the matter, but really, how much say do men even have in this process? Sean's already gotten far too comfortable with the word "no" over the past few years. It's time to take bring back the yes!
Jen will, perhaps lamentably, be my maid/matron of honor. But really, for all my griping that it's Sean's latent traditionalism that's forcing me to include her, how could I get married and not have my own sister in the bridal party? It's not like I don't speak to her or anything. She's just going to belch inappropriately, make crude jokes and run around in her underwear, and probably scare the crap out of Sean's brother. I have to know that now and accept it. However, as I told my friends, she is in no way permitted to handle ANY of the actual planning/organizing of showers, bachelorette parties, etc., unless we all want to be eating pigs in a blanket and watching one of Bill's hick cousins dance around in a John Deere cap and nothing else. Seriously.
Monday, December 10, 2007
White Christmas?
I just finished watching the Bing Crosby movie. I used to prefer Holiday Inn to the color, musical White Christmas, but after watching the former again last week and wincing at all of the awkward racism (Mamie the black servant, the Abe Lincoln song performed in blackface) and the war propaganda that's dropped right in the middle, I'm leaning towards the latter. I don't know when I became such a big Bing Crosby fan, either. Blame it on Sean's bad influence. Last night I saw High Society was going to be on TCM and I was so excited! Although in that case, at least, I can definitely say that I will always prefer the original Philadelphia Story. Bing and Frank make a passable attempt at replacing Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart, but poor Grace Kelly can't hold a candle to Katherine Hepburn's Tracy Lord.
It doesn't seem like we'll be having a white Christmas this year, though. Almost the middle of December, and barely a scrap of snow on the ground! But I won't lie--I'm grateful we're not buried under snowdrifts already. This is my first winter without the Tahoe, without her four-wheel drive and anti-lock brakes, and while Prudence is valiant, I'm not sure if she's up to the challenge.
Still, it's a little difficult to get into the Christmas spirit without any snow. I don't have a tree either, since I thought it was a little silly to decorate the apartment just for myself. Also, Jen absconded with every one of our Christmas decorations when we moved out of the house. Even my stocking--the one I had to buy and write my name on in glitter and glue when I was a teenager because no one had remembered to make one for the second child (I had a little green stocking before that with no name on it. Jen had a red velvet stocking with her name embroidered on. I suffered, I tell you.)
Sean told me a cute thing this evening. Apparently, when he needs a smile, he reads my journal entries from years ago, when I was a silly idiot writing idiot things. He didn't say the last part, I'm editorializing, but when he read a few things to me out loud...let's just say the ridiculousness factor was increased by ten to hear them said in his lovely, even tone. Ah, youth.
...God, I suddenly feel old. Maybe because I'm yawning and rubbing my eyes at 10:18 PM. Maybe because I'm going to go brush my teeth and be in bed, probably by the time the clock hits 10:30. Sigh. Like Methuselah.
It doesn't seem like we'll be having a white Christmas this year, though. Almost the middle of December, and barely a scrap of snow on the ground! But I won't lie--I'm grateful we're not buried under snowdrifts already. This is my first winter without the Tahoe, without her four-wheel drive and anti-lock brakes, and while Prudence is valiant, I'm not sure if she's up to the challenge.
Still, it's a little difficult to get into the Christmas spirit without any snow. I don't have a tree either, since I thought it was a little silly to decorate the apartment just for myself. Also, Jen absconded with every one of our Christmas decorations when we moved out of the house. Even my stocking--the one I had to buy and write my name on in glitter and glue when I was a teenager because no one had remembered to make one for the second child (I had a little green stocking before that with no name on it. Jen had a red velvet stocking with her name embroidered on. I suffered, I tell you.)
Sean told me a cute thing this evening. Apparently, when he needs a smile, he reads my journal entries from years ago, when I was a silly idiot writing idiot things. He didn't say the last part, I'm editorializing, but when he read a few things to me out loud...let's just say the ridiculousness factor was increased by ten to hear them said in his lovely, even tone. Ah, youth.
...God, I suddenly feel old. Maybe because I'm yawning and rubbing my eyes at 10:18 PM. Maybe because I'm going to go brush my teeth and be in bed, probably by the time the clock hits 10:30. Sigh. Like Methuselah.
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Thanksgiving
Well, I just went back and read my Thanksgiving entries from previous years. Apparently I hadn't written one the last two years. Hard to think that my last Thanksgiving with my mom and my grandpa was two years ago. Last night, as I was running down my list of everything I thank God for, I imagined them all sitting at a table together, my parents and grandparents. Everyone was smiling. I tried to remember what it was to hug each of them--my grandfather's scratchy face and that smell of wood and cigars he always carried with him; my mother's iron embrace and the overwhelming scent of her perfume; hugging my dad in the den after he'd get home from work, feeling the roughness of his dark blue LLBean jacket under my hands and the five o'clock shadow on his cheek. The last image is the faintest, after all this time, and yet for some reason, today he's the one I miss the most. Maybe it's because it's the holiday that celebrates vast amounts of overeating (and let's quote my mom here: "He wasn't big-boned, my husband was fat!") or maybe because it's been more than seven years since I could hug my dad, and I dearly wish I could do so again.
That said, I'm not sad today, not really. I've still got a great family; I've got Jen, and our relationship is the best now it's ever been. I've got great friends, a pleasant job with a nice boss, a fabulous apartment, a car that hasn't broken down on me, and the best boyfriend the world has to offer. Best of all, I have a future. Who knows what it holds?
Finally, this is a quote from the first Thanksgiving list I ever posted, all the way back in my junior year of high school:
"...for my my mom. she drives me crazy, i don't understand her, and sometimes i don't even feel close to her, yet it was she "who made my hands and my feet."
That said, I'm not sad today, not really. I've still got a great family; I've got Jen, and our relationship is the best now it's ever been. I've got great friends, a pleasant job with a nice boss, a fabulous apartment, a car that hasn't broken down on me, and the best boyfriend the world has to offer. Best of all, I have a future. Who knows what it holds?
Finally, this is a quote from the first Thanksgiving list I ever posted, all the way back in my junior year of high school:
"...for my my mom. she drives me crazy, i don't understand her, and sometimes i don't even feel close to her, yet it was she "who made my hands and my feet."
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Of Late
The middle of November already--how time flies. This weekend I went into New York to see my sister, to meet Bill's family, and to see Sara's new apartment. I had an excellent time: Jen and I didn't fight, not even once; Sapphire didn't pretend not to know me for the fifteen minutes I had with her in Jen's apartment; and I got to meet some of Sara's new friends from New York as well as an old friend from Providence. To make it even better, on Sunday afternoon I got to see Billy Collins read at Sacred Heart! He's drily humorous in person, and people were continually cracking up as he read his poems. It's that phenomenon where you see the humor in something and maybe smile at it when you're alone, but then the same thing makes you laugh out loud when you're in a group of people. Sadly, I didn't get to introduce myself to him as the girl whose boyfriend stalked him to get me an anniversary present that is currently framed in my kitchen. There was a long line of people eager for his autograph, and as I already have that, both in a book as well as on the poem and its accompanying faintly ominous note that reads "Hoping you and Michelle are still together..." I decided to let it go.
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Off a Sense of Accomplishment
I just finished my first draft of my statement of purpose for grad school applications and sent it to my advisors. I literally went skipping through the apartment to take a victory shower. That had to be the hardest two pages I've ever written, because it has to encapsulate everything about me that's unique--my background, my qualifications, my research interests, my interest in the particular school, even a bit of my personality. The statement is the only chance you have to actually let the graduate committee hear you in your own words, so it has to be good. I hope it's good.
Eventually I will be producing seven or eight versions of this little essay, each tailored to the schools I send it to. This draft was directed at Princeton, which was probably the easiest because they have amazing faculty and unrivaled resources. It's going to be a little more difficult with a school like Temple, for example, that has a couple of great people, but not that much in the way of resources. I was disappointed to find out from Dr. Escobar that the woman at Princeton I most wanted to study with is approaching retirement and no longer taking on new grad students. She recommended I look at a woman at Temple, which put that school back on my short list--I had previously nixed it because of the resources issue. But hey, if the woman who's the tops in her field thinks it's a good option, it deserves a closer look.
I have Dr. Schwab to thank for my current feelings of relief and elation. She emailed me on Friday to ask if I could send her my CV and statement by the weekend--meanwhile, I had been procrastinating because I knew I still had weeks in which to write the damn thing. So that definitely lit a fire under my ass, and 24 hours later, voila! I guess Sean's not the only one who can work well under pressure.
Now I must go get ready for the party this evening...we're going to a the Knights of Honor dinner at Yale Commons. It's a fundraiser for Sean's high school. I was plotting that tonight I could actually have a reason to borrow one of Hubbard's fur coats, but alas, with the rain that's forecast, that seems unlikely. My mother will have to wait to blast me with lightning bolts from heaven, it seems.
Eventually I will be producing seven or eight versions of this little essay, each tailored to the schools I send it to. This draft was directed at Princeton, which was probably the easiest because they have amazing faculty and unrivaled resources. It's going to be a little more difficult with a school like Temple, for example, that has a couple of great people, but not that much in the way of resources. I was disappointed to find out from Dr. Escobar that the woman at Princeton I most wanted to study with is approaching retirement and no longer taking on new grad students. She recommended I look at a woman at Temple, which put that school back on my short list--I had previously nixed it because of the resources issue. But hey, if the woman who's the tops in her field thinks it's a good option, it deserves a closer look.
I have Dr. Schwab to thank for my current feelings of relief and elation. She emailed me on Friday to ask if I could send her my CV and statement by the weekend--meanwhile, I had been procrastinating because I knew I still had weeks in which to write the damn thing. So that definitely lit a fire under my ass, and 24 hours later, voila! I guess Sean's not the only one who can work well under pressure.
Now I must go get ready for the party this evening...we're going to a the Knights of Honor dinner at Yale Commons. It's a fundraiser for Sean's high school. I was plotting that tonight I could actually have a reason to borrow one of Hubbard's fur coats, but alas, with the rain that's forecast, that seems unlikely. My mother will have to wait to blast me with lightning bolts from heaven, it seems.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
The Fabulous Thing I Did On My Lunch Hour
I bought a ticket to visit Carla in Florence this March. I'm going back to Florence, even if it's only for a week.
This isn't even something I've been ruminating on; in a flight of fancy yesterday I decided to check some fares to Italy and was amazed how cheap some of them were. A midweek ticket (nonstop, for the first time in my traveling career!)in early March was really not that expensive, and when I considered that this is probably the one time in my life that I'll have a friend in a foreign city that I can shack up with, who has a kitchen that I (trans: Carla) can cook in, thus saving the costs of hotel and restaurants...it seemed like a good idea, so I did it.
I can't believe that I did it, by the way. But at the same time I'm glad I did it quickly, because I know if I let myself think about it for too long I would have up with all sorts of pragmatic reasons to deny myself the opportunity. Pipe down, there, practicality!
(And so, my fourth transatlantic count-down begins)
This isn't even something I've been ruminating on; in a flight of fancy yesterday I decided to check some fares to Italy and was amazed how cheap some of them were. A midweek ticket (nonstop, for the first time in my traveling career!)in early March was really not that expensive, and when I considered that this is probably the one time in my life that I'll have a friend in a foreign city that I can shack up with, who has a kitchen that I (trans: Carla) can cook in, thus saving the costs of hotel and restaurants...it seemed like a good idea, so I did it.
I can't believe that I did it, by the way. But at the same time I'm glad I did it quickly, because I know if I let myself think about it for too long I would have up with all sorts of pragmatic reasons to deny myself the opportunity. Pipe down, there, practicality!
(And so, my fourth transatlantic count-down begins)
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
22
I can't believe I'm so old! I feel like up through 21, people are really prepared to cut you a lot of slack, but once you're 22 you're basically like every other adult, just with less money and no kids hanging on you in the grocery store. Oh well. My birthday was pleasant; I got some charming presents and a cake with my name on it, and no one died! A perfect celebration.
I also tried some kangaroo from Sean's meal at the restaurant we went to with his family, D'Errico's. It's an Italian restaurant but the owner likes to have different game meats on the menu. It really just tasted like steak--raw steak, since Sean likes his meat disgustingly red, but steak nonetheless. Gary said he would look into finding out where we can get ahold of rabbit meat from a butcher in the area, because I want to try my hand at making that rabbit dish Carla made for Easter.
Saturday morning I'm going to a spa for my birthday gift from Sean, and then we're moving him into his new apartment in Middletown! Sniff--the little boy is growing up and leaving the nest. Then I must get down to work on grad school applications...shudder...But it's a three day weekend, so it's all going to be OK.
I also tried some kangaroo from Sean's meal at the restaurant we went to with his family, D'Errico's. It's an Italian restaurant but the owner likes to have different game meats on the menu. It really just tasted like steak--raw steak, since Sean likes his meat disgustingly red, but steak nonetheless. Gary said he would look into finding out where we can get ahold of rabbit meat from a butcher in the area, because I want to try my hand at making that rabbit dish Carla made for Easter.
Saturday morning I'm going to a spa for my birthday gift from Sean, and then we're moving him into his new apartment in Middletown! Sniff--the little boy is growing up and leaving the nest. Then I must get down to work on grad school applications...shudder...But it's a three day weekend, so it's all going to be OK.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Sadness
Heather's grandfather passed away on Sunday from lung cancer. I only met him once, this past summer when Rae and I crashed the Flanagans' graduation party. I'm glad I got the chance.
One week from Friday it will have been one year since my mom died. Can you believe it? I can't, really. It seems like I was just talking to her yesterday, putting in a request for baked goods at school or getting the latest gossip on Jen or something. Ironically, I realized the other day that I can't remember my last conversation with her. I know it was a couple of days beforehand, maybe that Tuesday, but I don't remember what we talked about. Probably the same usual things. So often the last few years I called her because I just wanted to talk to her, to make sure she was OK. Maybe we talked about my birthday and what I wanted, of which all I can recall is requesting a Stop and Shop gift certificate (of course, as I later learned from her to-do list, she hadn't even gotten my present by that Thursday, even though my birthday was going to be Sunday. tsk tsk) I mean, I guess it's much better to have had a fairly banal last conversation with her rather than the big fight that usually happens before someone dies in a movie, you know?
I do remember the last time I saw her, and I feel lucky that even with my poor memory, this remains very clear. She came to school the first week we were there to bring the vacuum, some diet coke and other odds and ends. I don't remember what she was wearing, maybe her leather coat, but I don't think so. She had the dog with her, and we left him penned up in my room while we went out shopping for groceries. She brought those awesome pumpkin squares and told us how she'd made two batches but the dog tripped her on the stairs and she dropped one. I wrote a poem about that, actually; in true testament to my mom's lax idea of housekeeping, when I got home the night she died, there was the stain, faded, but still brown on a blue carpet, right on the stairs. I like remembering her standing there in the townhouse kitchen with my friends, eating treats. I remember that she always looked so small standing next to other people, but if you knew her, you knew she was a whirlwind.
I miss her a lot, especially when there's something I'm proud of and I just want to be able to call her and tell her, even though I know she'd only say "Oh, very nice," in that calm way of hers. I wish I could call and tell her all the little details about my job and my apartment even though she'd probably be watching TV at the same time and only half listening. I try to imagine her visiting here, inspecting the rooms and nodding like she did when I showed her around the townhouse, but it's hard imagining her somewhere she's never been. Actually, it's sort of easier imagining my dad in here because I can imagine him complaining about my back porch and how easy it would be for a burglar. I heard his voice in my head a few days ago when I was turning on the heat in here for the first time, and I ran around making sure nothing was anywhere remotely near the baseboard heaters so it wouldn't catch on fire. Probably nothing would ever catch on fire at a mere 68 degrees, but JTD is on my shoulder like a little paranoid angel. I miss him too, and then I'll miss sitting in our table in Giovanni's, the four of us, making jokes about each other, and then I'll remember sitting in another booth, just three of us them, making fun of him. Maybe sometime Jen and I will go there and sit and laugh at both of them. She's coming next Friday, and we're going to go visit my aunts on Saturday. I anticipate that there will be some awkward crying on Jen's part and some irritation on my part, but I really am looking forward to seeing her. My mom would probably be so annoyed seeing how good we get along as soon as our parents are out of the picture! All those times she pleaded with us to be nice to each other. Turns out all we needed was for my dad's prophecy to come true. It is just the two of us now.
One week from Friday it will have been one year since my mom died. Can you believe it? I can't, really. It seems like I was just talking to her yesterday, putting in a request for baked goods at school or getting the latest gossip on Jen or something. Ironically, I realized the other day that I can't remember my last conversation with her. I know it was a couple of days beforehand, maybe that Tuesday, but I don't remember what we talked about. Probably the same usual things. So often the last few years I called her because I just wanted to talk to her, to make sure she was OK. Maybe we talked about my birthday and what I wanted, of which all I can recall is requesting a Stop and Shop gift certificate (of course, as I later learned from her to-do list, she hadn't even gotten my present by that Thursday, even though my birthday was going to be Sunday. tsk tsk) I mean, I guess it's much better to have had a fairly banal last conversation with her rather than the big fight that usually happens before someone dies in a movie, you know?
I do remember the last time I saw her, and I feel lucky that even with my poor memory, this remains very clear. She came to school the first week we were there to bring the vacuum, some diet coke and other odds and ends. I don't remember what she was wearing, maybe her leather coat, but I don't think so. She had the dog with her, and we left him penned up in my room while we went out shopping for groceries. She brought those awesome pumpkin squares and told us how she'd made two batches but the dog tripped her on the stairs and she dropped one. I wrote a poem about that, actually; in true testament to my mom's lax idea of housekeeping, when I got home the night she died, there was the stain, faded, but still brown on a blue carpet, right on the stairs. I like remembering her standing there in the townhouse kitchen with my friends, eating treats. I remember that she always looked so small standing next to other people, but if you knew her, you knew she was a whirlwind.
I miss her a lot, especially when there's something I'm proud of and I just want to be able to call her and tell her, even though I know she'd only say "Oh, very nice," in that calm way of hers. I wish I could call and tell her all the little details about my job and my apartment even though she'd probably be watching TV at the same time and only half listening. I try to imagine her visiting here, inspecting the rooms and nodding like she did when I showed her around the townhouse, but it's hard imagining her somewhere she's never been. Actually, it's sort of easier imagining my dad in here because I can imagine him complaining about my back porch and how easy it would be for a burglar. I heard his voice in my head a few days ago when I was turning on the heat in here for the first time, and I ran around making sure nothing was anywhere remotely near the baseboard heaters so it wouldn't catch on fire. Probably nothing would ever catch on fire at a mere 68 degrees, but JTD is on my shoulder like a little paranoid angel. I miss him too, and then I'll miss sitting in our table in Giovanni's, the four of us, making jokes about each other, and then I'll remember sitting in another booth, just three of us them, making fun of him. Maybe sometime Jen and I will go there and sit and laugh at both of them. She's coming next Friday, and we're going to go visit my aunts on Saturday. I anticipate that there will be some awkward crying on Jen's part and some irritation on my part, but I really am looking forward to seeing her. My mom would probably be so annoyed seeing how good we get along as soon as our parents are out of the picture! All those times she pleaded with us to be nice to each other. Turns out all we needed was for my dad's prophecy to come true. It is just the two of us now.
Friday, August 31, 2007
After Rae's Rounds
Talking to Rae about journaling and poetry and things of that nature, I looked at my journal's main page and was surprised, yet again, to see how many years of my life are represented on that little sidebar. You'd think those entries would be able to fill in all the things I've forgotten--arguments, field trips, books I read once but can't remember the title of--but I often find myself stymied by the purposeful lack of detail insisted upon by my teenage writer self.
For example, tonight Rae and I went over, once again, our mysterious departure from friendship during the latter half of sophomore year and then our equally-odd return to it that summer, without reaching any conclusion as to exactly why we stopped saying hi to each other in the halls. I can't find any answers in my journal entries from the period, just as I can't really pin down exactly what the problem was between me and Sara that led to me becoming friends with Meghan junior year. In the latter case, there are a couple of particularly angsty entries that I'm pretty certain were Sara-related, but I haven't the slightest idea what it's actually saying. I guess back then I didn't think I'd ever be using this journal for reference, just as an immediate outlet for the frustration and emotional overload of usual teenage crap.
In the end, we can probably chalk most of it up to being hormonal, self-obsessed teens who thought way too highly of their own maturity levels. I can't believe some of the things I thought were superlatively important back then. Of course, I'll probably be singing the same tune soon about the college years--heck, when I read things I wrote in freshman year, into sophomore, I DO cringe, most often at the punctuation and capitalization but also at the arguably ridiculous content. I noticed I used to use swears a lot more often, both in my writing and in my regular conversation, whereas now I try to avoid them. Once upon a time, I actually felt "rebellious" and "cool" for using those words, whereas now I look upon them as a lost opportunity to use, you know, real vocabulary. (The main exception to this progression would be the word "cunt," because despite its complete inappropriateness for use in any context I find myself to be inordinately fond of using "cuntiness" to describe the behavior of people around me, especially while I'm driving). But hey, I'm still growing.
For example, tonight Rae and I went over, once again, our mysterious departure from friendship during the latter half of sophomore year and then our equally-odd return to it that summer, without reaching any conclusion as to exactly why we stopped saying hi to each other in the halls. I can't find any answers in my journal entries from the period, just as I can't really pin down exactly what the problem was between me and Sara that led to me becoming friends with Meghan junior year. In the latter case, there are a couple of particularly angsty entries that I'm pretty certain were Sara-related, but I haven't the slightest idea what it's actually saying. I guess back then I didn't think I'd ever be using this journal for reference, just as an immediate outlet for the frustration and emotional overload of usual teenage crap.
In the end, we can probably chalk most of it up to being hormonal, self-obsessed teens who thought way too highly of their own maturity levels. I can't believe some of the things I thought were superlatively important back then. Of course, I'll probably be singing the same tune soon about the college years--heck, when I read things I wrote in freshman year, into sophomore, I DO cringe, most often at the punctuation and capitalization but also at the arguably ridiculous content. I noticed I used to use swears a lot more often, both in my writing and in my regular conversation, whereas now I try to avoid them. Once upon a time, I actually felt "rebellious" and "cool" for using those words, whereas now I look upon them as a lost opportunity to use, you know, real vocabulary. (The main exception to this progression would be the word "cunt," because despite its complete inappropriateness for use in any context I find myself to be inordinately fond of using "cuntiness" to describe the behavior of people around me, especially while I'm driving). But hey, I'm still growing.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Fire
I can't believe so much of Greece is burning. I'm reading the newspaper articles and they're showing the blazes in places Sean and I visited, like the little town of Andritsena--we stopped there for lunch in the middle of a long drive to the Temple of Vasses, but we didn't feel like being the only tourists in a restaurant at noon, so we went to a small grocery shop instead. I remember there was nothing in there I wanted to eat; Sean wound up getting some vanilla wafer crackers, and I think, and then we kept driving. As we left, the narrow road curved around a valley and I saw a herdsman standing at the top of an impossibly steep slope, while his charges grazed beneath him. I remember marveling at how nimbly their legs moved on the terrain. Now I read in the paper they've found the bodies of several missing shepherds in the hills, and dead livestock are everywhere. They said the fires moved faster than cars could drive, and more than 60 people are dead. I can't imagine what it's like there now.