Mirror ball

I don't like my body. I look in the mirror and I see the flaws. It's lumpy and out of shape and, well, over forty. I know that things could be worse, but things could be better. If you were describing me (and were being nice), you'd say I was "curvy." I'm in okay shape: do a lot of walking, that sort of thing. But there are times I see myself in the mirror or see photos and just absolutely hate what I see. So, I have a question: should I learn to love my body or is it better to not?

There is a part of me that thinks I should learn to accept my body. I should love myself as I am and get some damn self-confidence. I see women (and men) who are larger than me and just seem so comfortable in their skin and I wonder how they do it. Could I do that? Should I do that?

There is another part of me that says I shouldn't settle. That I could be better. That I should buckle down and diet and exercise. If you're dissatisfied with the way things are, should you just accept the way things are or try to change it? I do think I should try to change it. But then I worry that I will never be happy with the way things are. That no matter what I do, I'll see the flaws.

What's in the case?

Yesterday I got a notice that Yahoo briefcase is shutting down. "Yahoo briefcase?" Oh, yeah, that's one of those places that you can (well, could) store things on-line. Do I even have anything there? I open it. One thing.

"Thesis".

Oh, that.

So, what to do with it? Do I save it somewhere? Does it even matter? What would I ever need it for? I'm almost 100% sure that I'll never need to go back to it again. I have a hard copy of it. The data has been published. And, really, on the highest level, who really cares? It's over. Over. I've moved past graduate school (thank God), and onto other things. Frankly, if I had to defend my thesis again, oh, that would be embarrassing. But that's not the issue at hand; the issue is what should I do with my thesis.

I know what I want to do with it: nothing. I am planning to scatter the electronic ashes of my thesis into the wind of the web. And that makes me happy.

Lazy

I am too lazy to write today, so I will post my favorite pictures from Sunday's trip to Philadelphia. Enjoy!

Random soapbox

The other day on the radio, they were discussing breast feeding in public. And I feel very strongly: no. I'm sorry, no. And by not in public, I am saying whipping it out at the food court and letting little Johnny go at it. I understand that sometimes there are emergencies, and in that case, you go off and try to do this as subtly as possible.

Don't give me the argument that "it's natural." So's taking a crap and having sex, but I don't do either one out in the open for everyone to see. And, fine, if you feel that way, then I (or anyone else) can look at your boobs whenever they want (because, after all, it's perfectly natural!)

Just try to plan ahead a bit. Bring a blanket or towel to cover up if you absolutely have to. Try to find a place off away from the vast majority of people. Yeah, this may not be the most forward-thinking piece, but, guess what: we don't all think it's the most beautiful, natural thing in the world.

Thrill me, chill me

Now that I've had my ipod touch (I've already been corrected too many times that it is not an itouch!) for about two months, let me tell you what I think about it. Let's start by saying that I really do love it. It's super-slick and fun to play with. There's lots of free apps (and even the pay ones are cheap), so you can load it up with all sorts of useless nonsense. Do I need a woo! button? Of course not. But I have one.

I actually use it primarily as an ipod. I know, weird! And it works fine. It sometimes turns sideways or changes the display when I swear I haven't done anything to it, but it's an ipod. I don't like that the way you upload songs is different. For my previous ipods, I could juts drag a song onto the device in itunes. Now I have to put it in a folder, which then gets uploaded once you sync it. If you don't sync, no upload. Same with pictures, which seems like extra steps. The old way was better.

Although there are a lot of free apps, it's kind of a pain to find out which apps you really want or need. I don't think the store does a particularly good job explaining what the apps do, and there still needs to be some organization to the store. My guess is that they have a lot more apps than they had anticipated. It's fairly overwhelming. But, here's an example, I wanted an app for twitter. Well, there's about 20 apps that you can twitter on. It's not clear what makes them different, why you would want one over another, etc. You kind of just have to download and try them out.

The wi-fi thing is also an issue for me. I'll admit, I'm a bit slow with this technology stuff, but I seem to have a hard time hooking up with wi-fi. It'll say there's a network, and I'll select it, and it will say that I'm connected, but then when I go to an app that requires the hook-up, nothing. I wonder if the iphones have the same issues, being in a plan and all. And, warning to those of you who get an itouch (shut up; that's what I'm calling it!): it will search and search for a network and run that battery down, so shut off wi-fi unless you want to hook up.

I know I'm not using it to its fun potential, but already, I'm digging it. I'm not much of a games gal, so it's nice to be able to grab a few for free and then not feel guilty for not using them. I'll try to get better at some of the mobile apps. Really.

I fake it so real

I just watched the pilot for "Dollhouse." Oh Joss, you know we want to love everything you do, but there's just something missing. I understand that it's just the pilot and one hour isn't enough to fully flesh out a complicated story with wacky sci-fi details, but there are some obvious problems straight up.

Although I generally like Eliza Dushku, she just doesn't work with as this character. She's Faith -- tough and street-smart, not this kind-of-innocent, blankish slate. I just don't think Eliza Dushku can pull that off (although I think Amy Acker could have). And instead of trying to make her fit that character, they should have changed the character a bit. Here's my idea: make it so that the dolls can't be wiped completely, that there are traces of each mission left behind. Heck, let's go one step further and say that the older dolls get "used up", kind of a Logan's Run sort of deal. Make the "newer" dolls worth more. Then you could have Eliza Dushku be a sort of world-weary type of doll, near retirement. That would fit her better.

Maybe I missed it, but are all the dolls women? Because I am not in love with the idea of these girls being completely manipulated by a bunch of (mostly) men. It's not that empowerment message I was hoping for.

Here's a question: why don't some of these shows take advantage of the internet. I'd guess that about 99% of the folks who watched "Dollhouse" are kind of internet junkies. Instead of clunky exposition, you could kick people to a site. We're nerds! We'll do the homework! We'll do the background reading and click on sites and listen to ads so that we can learn more. Take advantage of that. If you can do a sing-along blog, you can give us some backstory on-line.

Now I'm off to fix "Two and a Half Men." Oh, just kidding.

All in all...

Today we took a mini-trip to Philadelphia. We didn't really have a plan, but it was a sunny day and we had nothing else to do. We started out around Chinatown where there was this weird parade-ish thing happening. We watched for a while: it involved a couple of dancing dragons (or so we thought -- we looked it up later and they are actually lions) in front of shops, then a bunch of fireworks. Oh, and lettuce. Apparently, it's part of Chinese New Year. 

Then it was off to the Reading Terminal Market for lunch. Unfortunately, my favorite stand appears to be gone (I miss you, Mexican place!), so I had some disappointing duck. Mr. HP had a really nice pork sandwich, and I had an awesome coffee to make up for the duck. I do love the Market. I always feel like I should buy a stack of baked goods and cheese and fresh seafood. Instead, we just walked by the Cookie Company and took in the smells of fresh cookies.

We then walked to the American Institute of Architects, which has the best gift shop ever. Books and wire miniatures and funky cards and sock monkeys. I found a wallet that seems about perfect. I know it won't be, but, for today, I am pretending it is perfect. It's a "taxi wallet"! I don't know what that means either, but it's red and lovely. The real reason we went to the AIA was to see a display of neon signs that Mr. HP read. Yay! Lights and stuff. There was also a model of Philadelphia and tiny, weird houses.

We next walked through this park with super-huge game pieces and a statue of Frank Rizzo. I took lots of pictures of pretty buildings, which always makes me happy. I sometimes forget how beautiful Philadelphia can be. We then went through Love Park; neither of us had been to Love Park before, which is kind of surprising. We watched the skater kids for a while, then went to the Comcast building to watch this weird video display (definitely more Mr. HP's thing). 

Although it was cold, it was really nice to just walk around the city. It's one of my favorite things, just seeing what happens. Fireworks, good coffee, skater boys, a good day.

I am afraid of Nazis

Whenever I have read about World War II, the thing that is always striking to me is that there were people who had so much, and then it was eroded away down to nothing. That one day, all was well; the next, all was gone. I think that there was a belief, that everything would be okay, that it just couldn't get worse. And then it did. And when I think about that, it scares the hell out of me.

I like to think that my world is save. I like to feel like everything is basically under control, and that nothing really bad is going to happen. But then I think of Nazis, and how they destroyed the worlds of so many people. I wonder, could this happen to me? Could this happen here? How quickly can everything go to nothing?

Conversation with Mom

Mom: Why don't you look for houses in Virginia?

Me: It's too far, Ma.

Mom: Are the taxes lower?

Me: I believe they are, but it's still too far.

Mom: It doesn't seem to be that far.

Me: Really, it's too far.

Mom: ...but if you can buy a cheaper house...

Me: I can buy a cheaper house in Montana, but it's too far, and I really don't want to take the Beltway everyday.

Mom: I don't think you'd have to take the Beltway every day. 

Me: Ma, look at a map.

Mom: I am looking at a map. There's a major highway that crosses right into Maryland.

Me: 495?

Mom: Yes. See, it's a major highway.

Me: Mom, that's the Beltway.

Mom: Oh, no, this road is outside of Washington.

Me: It's the Beltway.

Mom: Really?! 

Pause.

Mom: Can you take another way over?

Me: Not really.

Mom: Well, there's got to be another bridge over.

Me: Not really.

Mom: I can't believe there's not another bridge.

Me: Mom, look at the map.

Pause.

Mom: Well, you'd think they'd build more bridges.

That's my mom: willing to build bridges so that I can buy a nicer house.

Someone is a genius!

At the cafeteria at work, they have this side table that they like to decorate for special occasions. You know, little turkeys for Thanksgiving, stockings for Christmas, footballs for the Super Bowl, that sort of thing. Cute, but somewhat forgettable. Until the Valentine's Day display.

Now, when you first see it, it looks like a typical sort of display. A few roses, box of chocolates, champagne glasses. Then you notice the fake fireplace with the video tape of the fire going, and you think, "Nice." Oh, look, little pictures on the mantle: The Jonas Brothers, Brad Pitt, someone I don't recognize, but also a nice touch. And then you hear it: Barry White music.

Genius, I tell you!

(No picture again! Stupid blogger site...)

It's just not fair

It's weird; I don't believe in karma or that things happen for a reason or any of that sort of thing, but I really hate it when things are not fair. If one person is working hard and another is not, but they get the same reward (or, even worse! the non-worker gets rewarded), it makes me nutty! 

There have been a number of things in the news that have really poked at my hate of things that are unfair. Those idiot banker CEO's, who still have their private jets and make over a million, that bitch and moan that there's no way they could possibly survive on a half million, not with their nannies and vacations and wives' trainers. Seriously? How did you get this job in the first place? Hey, aren't you the same guys who give me the financial advice to have at least 6 months worth of savings handy?

And you guys who aren't working that now have to do some housework, guess what? You weren't doing your share in the first place. And don't write "The New York Times" saying that you're different and so are all your friends and that women want to do extra work anyway because it completes them, just shut up and wash a dish. All the studies show that men do less around the house and most of them don't realize it. And, yes, we've asked you to help out, so don't say we haven't. And don't get me started on how women make less. (Although, don't get me started on the exceptions granted to working mothers...) (Okay, we've gotten really ramble-y here.)

Look, I know in many ways I'm lucky. Things have, for the most part, worked out well, and I look at my life and I know I've got it good. But sometimes I look around and do think that things are not fair. And it makes me mad. I need to get over it.

Have I become that cynical?

The other day I was listening to my ipod and a love song by John Doe came on. As I was listening to this song, it occurred to me that I don't really believe love songs that are sung by men. As I listened this song of heartbreak and longing, I was thinking, "I just don't believe you."

Whenever I hear a love song about loss or despair or heartbreak sung by a man, I just don't think it's true. I really believe that guys just don't get that involved. Yeah, they feel sadness and disappointment when someone leaves them, but I just don't think it gets that deep. When I hear Eric Clapton wail, "Do you want to see me crawl across the floor for you? Do you want to hear me beg you to take me back?" I think, "Now there's a guy who really wants to get laid."

I'm not saying that men don't love. But I believe it is a more logical form of love. They know they won't die or their heart won't truly be broken if someone leaves them. That there are other options out there. That, for whatever reason, most girls will do some chasing, and, if they don't, another will probably come along that will do the work. I don't think, in general, women approach love in this way. I do blame biology a bit -- a woman has a biological drive for a single companion whereas a male has the need for multiple companions. I know that we're all supposed to be evolved beyond on this, but I also think that there is this underlying drive.

I'm probably wrong. There may be men out there who are crying over women right this minute. Who can barely breathe, they are so heartbroken. But I don't actually believe it.

Every little bird in the tall oak tree

I am trying out twitter and trying to decide if I like it. I like the bite-sized aspect of it. Sometimes it's actually  challenge to give an update in 140 characters. I guess it's a good way to prevent a long rant about anything. I like have a quick moment to blow off steam or comment on crazy, then move on.

I am following a handful of people and groups. A couple of friends, a couple of celebrities, and some fake people (I love the fake people!) I was following The New York Times for about 10 seconds, but they post, like, every 10 seconds. I just don't need to know that much that quickly. I am following Darth Vader which makes me giggle every time he posts. Darth, call me!

The weird thing is the people who follow you. I don't have any issue with friends following, because that's the point of twitter, but I've had two complete strangers follow me. I have no idea how they found me and why they are following, but there you go. I've actually had a bit of a conversation with one person, which makes it all just a bit weirder.

I wish more friends used it. Yes, I am that nosy about their lives. I get a sense of what it would be like to get updates from profile updates on facebook, and I'm still trying to decide if I need both twitter and facebook. (As I sit here, wearing my sock monkey necklace, I do wonder how old I am. Thanks for asking.)

It's goofy and kind of fun, but I need more people to follow.

Won't you spare me over til another year

Two of my older relatives are very sick. They both have cancer and it's pretty far advanced. These are relatives that have been a part of my life as long as I can remember -- part of the holiday-poker-family gathering crowd. I'm sad that this is happening, and it's weird to imagine that they won't be around for much longer.

The logical part of me knows that it could be a lot worse. Both of them are in their 80s. They smoked most of their lives, drank, barely exercise, ate nothing but crap foods. Let's think about that for a minute. The Big Guy comes down and asks you: Door #1 is you die in your 80s of cancer. You get to basically take minimal care of yourself; go ahead: drink and smoke and have half-and-half on your cereal. And bologna salad for lunch. Door #2 remains a mystery. So, which door do you want to pick? I don't know about you, but I'm picking Door #1 every day of the week.

It's always a bit weird, watching things change. I know, circle of life, blah, blah, but it's still sad to see.

That clinking, clanking sound

When I was a kid, one of my favorite things was going with my dad to the money machine. When we'd get the money, it was always new money. It was crisp and perfect and had that great smell. He would hand the money to us kids so that we could crinkle the money. It was an important job -- it prevented the bills from sticking together. When we gave it back, Dad would put it in his wallet and point out that the bills should all face the same way, and you should always keep the smaller bills in front. I still organize my money this way and am surprised when people don't have their money sorted in this fashion.

My parents would keep the extra money in a book (Sylvia Porter's "The Money Book," so clever!), a habit I started in grad school ("What It Takes", if you're wondering.) (See? I can be clever as well.) Of course, when you get money now, it's usually not brand new money. However, today when I got money, it was super-crisp new money. The bills all stuck together, and I had to take a few minutes to crinkle it. And I thought of being a kid and how it always seemed like it was so very much money.

Not sure what to think

Mr. Higgy-Piggie does not read my blog. I am not sure what I think about this. I know that if Mr. HP had a blog, I would want to read it, but I am nosy that way. I read so many blogs -- people I don't even know. If I actually knew them, even better. But, then again, I like reality tv and Mr. HP hates it. "Why are you even interested in these people?" Because I am super-nosy, of course.

There's a part of me that is glad he sort of let's me have my things. He gives me space and privacy, which should be a good thing. But there is also a part of me that feels: "aren't you a bit curious?" There's a part of me that takes his disinterest in the blog as a disinterest in me. I know that comes from putting my feelings on his actions, which isn't really fair. He's just not that guy.

He once asked me if he should read the blog. I wasn't sure what to say. I felt a bit like Jennifer Aniston in "The Break-Up": "I want you to want to read it." He also pointed out that we do actually talk to each other -- was there anything new in the blog? And, for the most part, it is all things we talk about. So he shouldn't have to read it. But, on days I'm feeling sorry for myself, there is a part of me that wonders if he just doesn't care. 

Difficult concepts

A long, long time ago, people used to live out in the open. Which was fine, until someone found a cave and thought, "Hey, I should live in there." And the other people saw that the cave guy wasn't getting rained on and decided to join cave guy in the cave. And that worked for a while.

Then someone decided she wanted some privacy. Sure, the cave was nice and big and everyone fit just fine, but sometimes, you wanted to go off and be on your own, and, gosh, there just wasn't really anyplace to go. So, she thought, hey, let's divide up the cave into compartments and call these compartment "rooms". And everyone rejoiced because they could have their own little place. 

Sometimes people would go and visit each other in these "rooms". And even though these "rooms" were somewhat private, there was still that big hole that let you get in and out of the room. And if you wanted to gossip about the cave guy three rooms down, he might hear you thought that hole. This was an issue for a while, until someone came up with the idea of a big plank that could be opened and closed. "We'll put a 'door' on each of these 'rooms', and then you'll have complete privacy." And it was good. 

But there is one flaw: if you want privacy, you have to shut the damn door. So, everyone who uses the conference room by my cube, I know it's a tough concept, but can we shut the door once in a while? Thanks!

Rock on, y'all

Mr. HiggyPiggie and I were at breakfast and the Allman Brothers came on, and I had to confess that when it comes to music, my knowledge of Southern rock is lacking. So, who is Southern rock (and who is not?)

Well, obviously, Allman Brothers, yes. Skynyrd, definitely. Then we were stumped. I said that ZZ Top should be on the list. Sure, that sounds right. I thought of Stevie Ray Vaughan and Gov't Mule. We thought about it for a while.

Tom Petty? Mr. HP said no, but I disagreed. BTO always felt like Southern rock to me, although they are Canadian. We pondered a bit. What about Graham Parsons? Mr. HP didn't know who that was (we're now divorced. Oh, I'm kidding. Mostly.) I was like, you know, The Byrds "Sweetheart of the Rodeo", Flying Burrito Brothers, "Love Hurts", died of a drug overdose, his friends tried to burn his body in the desert...That's when Mr. HP looked at me like I was nuts or something. (And I started to wonder, did I dream this -- he's a real guy, right?) "We need Wikipedia," declared Mr. HP. 

Wikipedia, the source of all knowledge, has a fairly broad definition. Too broad. I think we both feel that Southern rock was not only a genre but an era as well. Wikipedia pulls in all sorts of acts. If it had anything to do with the South, it's Southern rock. R.E.M.? Really? B-52s? Come on! Bo Bice? Influenced by, sure, but that's a stretch to call him "Southern Rock." But we did add Molly Hacket, .38 Special, and Black Oak Arkansas to the list of what we feel is real Southern rock.

But no Tom Petty. 

It's out there

Our house is officially on the market. I am so relieved it is out there, but now I just want some activity. It's weird to sell your house. On one hand, I think it's a super-great house, clearly worth millions of dollars and I can't understand why someone isn't trying to buy it this very minute. On the other hand, I see all the flaws and all of the reasons someone shouldn't buy the place.

I actually think the house looks great. All of the rooms are pulled together. Minimal, but nice. The closets are clean, everything is organized. It's as nice as it's ever been. I think of some of the houses we've seen. Shudder. Weird stuffed animals as kitchen decorations, clothes in the shower, baby seats on the dining room tables. What are these people thinking? Yet, I worry that with all our work, it's still going to be a struggle to sell the thing.

It's tough not knowing when this will happen. Will it take days, weeks, (god forbid) months? What kind of price will we get? Will the next person who sees the house be the next owner? How many times will we have to show it?

Of course, once someone buys the house, this new life gets more real. There is still a feeling that I could just go back to my old life, as long as we still have the house. I can still be in a bit of a state of denial as long as I can go back to the house. I wonder what I will actually feel when we sell the house. Will I be happy and relieved, or will I freak out all over again?

At least we got the clothes out of the shower.

Rethinking location

We are thinking about where we want to live. I want to live near a Metro stop, because I want to get into the city easily. I want it to be easy to pick up and go into DC. I want no excuses. And we want to live where we can walk to places: stores, restaurants, etc. So, Bethesda seemed to be it.

We have since seen a number of houses, and we think we have a fairly generous budget, but these houses. They just make me sad. Or annoyed. All of these need major changes. Mr. HP and I are thinking, should we be spending this much and compromising this much as well?

Yesterday we went to an Open House in the neighborhood I am currently living in. As you know, I live walking distance from work, but not walking distance from the Metro. What you might not know is that the community I live in is a sort of artificial town. It's got a center, places to eat, places to shop, Whole Foods. It's convenient, but a bit soulless. Anyway, back to the Open House. This house was as cheap as any we've seen (cheaper that most of them, by a lot), and it had almost everything we want. And I'm thinking, maybe it would be better to walk to work than the Metro. So I am rethinking my location philosophy.

I have to say, it does feel a little like we're selling out. Is this what we really want? What about the charm of an old neighborhood? What about those cute, little houses? Are we going to go downtown as often as we should? I feel like we didn't use Philadelphia enough -- is the same thing going to happen here?

Anyway, I'm thinking about it. There's certainly a good chance I'll rethink the rethinking. As I do. Poor Mr. HP, having to deal with all this...

I have challenged myself

Yesterday I made the comment that I could name 100 movies that were better than "The Graduate." I would like to point out that I think "The Graduate" is a perfectly fine movie. It's just not one of the top 10 or 20, as some lists like to point out. I find it to be one of those movies that Baby Boomers like to think speaks to their generation, which is one of the reasons I kind of hate it. But I do love Anne Bancroft, although the fact that she was supposed to be much older than Dustin Hoffman's character but is actually less than 6 years older is another reason to hate those idiots in Hollywood. Okay, rant off; here are my movies (in no particular order):

1. The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance

2. The Philadelphia Story

3. Gone with the Wind

4. Wizard of Oz

5. Singing in the Rain

6. The Miracle Worker

7. The Sting

8. Howard's End

9. Room with a View

10. The Wedding Banquet

11. Barcelona

12. Monty Python and the Holy Grail

13. Blazing Saddles

14. Star Wars

15. The Empire Strikes Back

16. Godfather

17. Godfather 2

18. Random Harvest

19. Good-bye Mr. Chips

20. Henry V (1989)

21. Pulp Fiction

22. Jezebel

23. Dark Victory

24. The Great Escape

25. Young Frankenstein

26. Casablanca

27. The Bridge over the River Kwai

28. Blade Runner

29. Psycho

30. Meet Me in St. Louis

31. Pat and Mike

32. Fargo

33. Blood Simple

34. His Girl Friday

35. The Thin Man

36. The Shop around the Corner

37. Hannah and her Sisters

38. Crimes and Misdemeanors

39. Ninotchka

40. The Freshman (the one with Brando -- I stand behind it.)

41. My Fair Lady

42. West Side Story

43. High Noon

44. The Searchers

45. True Grit

46. The Terminator

47. Unforgiven

48. Raiders of the Lost Ark

49. Spellbound

50. Roman Holiday

51. To Kill a Mockingbird

52. Bringing up Baby

53. The African Queen

54. Pat and Mike

55. The Lion in Winter

56. Lawrence of Arabia

57. The Big Sleep

58. The Treasure of the Sierra Madre

59. The Maltese Falcon

60. House of Games

61. Repo Man

62. Gaslight

63. It's a Wonderful Life

64. Tootsie

65. The Milagro Beanfield War

66. Now, Voyager

67. Silence of the Lambs

68. The Princess Bride

69. Big Fish

70. The Dresser

71. Sense and Sensibility

72. Waterloo Bridge

73. The Deer Hunter

74. 12 Angry Men

75. Once Upon a Time in the West

76. Metropolitan

77. All the President's Men

78. Carrie

79. Love Affair

80. My Man Godfrey

81. The Grifters

82. Swing-time

83. Terms of Endearment

84. Dangerous Liaisons

85. Ghandi

86. One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest

87. M*A*S*H

88. Network

89. Silkwood

90. Moonstruck

91. Amadeus

92. High Society

93. Grand Hotel

94. Ronin

95. Mary Poppins

96. The Shawshank Redemption

97. Four Weddings and a Funeral

98. Parenthood

99. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid

100. Kill Bill

So there!

House hunting makes me tired

One might think that looking for a new house might be fun, but I am already over it. It doesn't seem like it should be this hard. But they all have issues. This house has a good kitchen, but nasty yard. This one is close to the Metro but needs to be upgraded all over. This one has no garage; this one has no driveway!

I know that there is no perfect house. I am trying to approach this with an open mind, and trying to think of ways we could change the house to make it what we want. But I think that there should be a house out there that's a little closer to our ideal (and in our price range.)

Most of the houses now have nicknames: Single-Guy's House, The Marble Palace, Moldy Bones, Blue Kitchen. It's a bad sign if the house doesn't even get a nickname. It's even worse when we can't remember the house at all. ("Did we see that one? Really?") Of course, the really bad ones get nicknames as well, so a nickname isn't always a good sign.

I'm afraid that I will just get sick of looking and just buy one. The next one we see, that's it. No kitchen? Doesn't matter. Toilet missing? We'll figure something out. I'm just sick of looking.

Here kitty, kitty

Today the kitty arrived to relocate in the apartment. I was (am) more than a little tense as to how it will go. First off, the cat hasn't lived anywhere but the house in Newtown, so this is a big deal for the critter. This is clearly not the house he knows and loves. On top of the 3 hour drive, he's not as happy as one would hope.

I'm hoping he settles in. I'm sure he will, but I'm such a freak about these sorts of things -- worrying that he'll adjust, etc. Bru reminds me that animals respond to that tension. Of course, I'm too much of an idiot to dial it back.

Anyway, I hope he's happy and healthy here. For now, I'm checking on him and glad everyone made it down safely.

Shake it off!

I'm in bad spirits these days, and I can't seem to break it. It's not a good thing. I know that things are stressful and I should be allowed to be a bit down/freaked out/whatever. But I do think it's gone a bit far and I'm ready to have my spirits uplifted.

I need to have something to look forward to. This may be why I'm daydreaming about taking a vacation. I think about the pretty places I've visited ("oh, Barcelona, next time I'll stay a little longer!") But the voice inside keeps telling me that this is not a good time to be vacationing. Soon I will have things: selling the house, buying a new one, Mr. HP getting a new job and joining me down here. Unfortunately, I don't know when any of this will happen, which adds to my anxiety.

My new-month resolution: work to be happy. Yesterday I washed the rice, and Stephen says that it will lead to happiness. I have to believe.

Rewind

These days, I just wish I could get my life of a year and a half ago back. Things were definitely easier then. I just want to go back to Rome. When we were in Rome, I still loved working at Novo. The writing group was happy; we all basically got along (basically). Cliff was our slightly misguided leader, but things were going well. We were in Rome! How have things changed so much?

I know that change is a part of life. I also know that there are some things that are better now. I think I do need to challenge myself, and lately I've had to do that. That's probably good for me. But all of the other baggage; um, no thanks.

I'd like to go back, just for a little while, and see what it was like. Was it better? Would I have made the same choices? Or maybe, can I go forward a little bit and make sure I'm doing the right thing now?

Guilt, needs, and other bad emotions

It's been a tough month. I'd like to say that I'm handling everything well, but that would be a lie. I'm overly sensitive, I cry too easily, I feel tired all the time. The worse thing is that I know most of this was brought on by the choices I've made, so I feel guilty asking anyone for help, especially Mr. HP. 

I wish Mr. HP would do more. Look for a job more, clean up the house more, want to move down here more. I know part of it is this is just the way he is. I also know that moving was my doing, and he's not a fan of this situation. But there are days that it hurts that he's not doing everything he possibly can to be here with me. 

All of this makes me feel guilty about choices I've made.  I shouldn't feel that way, but, obviously, the chaos in my life is a direct result of choosing the new job. But I do wish that once in a while, someone would jut grab me and hug me and say that it'll all be okay.

Grab the popcorn!

About 10 years ago, AFI came up with their 100 top movies of all time. Like the poser I am, I was like, "I'm going to take this list and see them all!" But, 100 movies is not a lot of movies, especially since I had already seen a number of the movies on the list. Luckily, since this list was newsworthy, there were all sorts of other folks making their movie lists. And, since I am not the only loser out there, some guy put them all together on a website and made a "Greatest Movies" list of about 1000 movies. And, that's how I got "The Movie List."

It's a pretty impressive list; it takes up about 8 pages in 2 columns. I'm down to about 1 column of movies to go. It's just (mostly) American movies, so that is a limitation. No "Jules and Jim", German cinema, that sort of thing. What there is a lot of is Hitchcock. And John Ford. Not that I mind so much, but it's sort of a lazy thing when someone just spits out all of someone's work as "The Best."

Watching all of these movies has been really interesting. I'm surprised as to how much I enjoy the Westerns. And if it's from 1939, I'm there. I'm also surprised as to how much I really don't like the war movies. I also dislike that whole late '60s era ("Easy Rider", "The Graduate", "Bonnie and Clyde" -- sorry, just overrated, the whole lot of them.) 

I cannot get into silent movies and I stand behind this statement. Look, when they got the technology to make movies in color, not all movies switched right away. Heck, even now, they still will sometimes make a black and white movie. But when they were able to add sound, pretty much all movies switched over. There just are not a lot of silent movies after "The Jazz Singer." Sure, I appreciate the talents of folks like Chaplin, but, come on, say something! Plus, it's so annoying to watch about 30 seconds of mock dialogue, then a card: "The sheriff is coming!" Clearly, we are missing some details here. 

The best thing about The List is the "unknown"movies. The movies that I would have never watched if they weren't on The List. Movies like "Good-bye, Mr. Chips" and "Random Harvest." The bad news is that it goes the other way as well. The List is the reason I watched "Last Tango in Paris." Which, sorry List, they all can't be winners.

If you try sometimes

I am afraid of asking for help. I'm not sure where it comes from. I know that a part of it comes from not wanting to appear weak. I don't want to be girly. I want to be able to hold my own and asking for help makes me feel like I can't do it.

I think the biggest reason I don't ask for help is that I am afraid I will not get it. That when I want a hand, that hand won't be there for me. It's kind of a horrible thing to be afraid of, that the people you love and care about won't be there for you.

Today I asked Mr. HP for something. I want him to come down a day early next weekend. It shouldn't be a big deal. Yet, when I asked, I practically started crying. And when he said that he would, I almost cried with relief.

Maybe I need to ask for help. Once in a while.

Where you hang your hat

It's weird, being between houses.  I don't know what to call home anymore. How do you know what is home? Is it based on time? Because I spend most of my time in Maryland. But the Maryland apartment is not home. The furniture is weird rental stuff, and I know I'm not staying there permanently. I'm not growing attached to it, although it is where a lot of my stuff is living these days, at least the stuff I use a lot. 

The house in Pennsylvania kind of feels like home, but it's definitely different than it was. We're rearranging furniture, we've put away a bunch of things, it's just off. And I know that I'm never really going to stay here anymore. That's probably the weirdest thing to think about. The cat is coming to Maryland next weekend, and Mr. HP pointed out that the cat would never go back to Pennsylvania. And that kind of blew my mind a little bit.

The next time I see autumn in Pennsylvania, I'll be a visitor. All these places I view as local, no more. These are no longer my neighborhood places. Philadelphia is not my city. I have moved on. Or, more accurately, I am ready to move on. It's freaking me out.

Missing a comrade

Today I was thinking about my old boss Cliff. I just can't believe that we're not going to be able to sit around and talk about my new job. To laugh about all the crazy that happened (and happens) with the Big Blue Bull. I think we all thought that we'd get a chance to get together again. That we'd sit around and talk about work and the Civil War and Halls through history. 

Cliff certainly had his short-comings. He was a tiny, tiny bit of a sexist (I used to say he'd call us "little ladies" if he could get away with it.) He hated to travel and bitched before, during, and after. But I still liked to stop by his office and just shoot the shit for a while.

I just wish I could have one last conversation, where I would talk to him about why I left Novo and what my new job is like. I'd like to chat about our coworkers past and present. I'd like to thank him for everything he's taught me. I'd like to ask him if he had any advice, but I'd take it with a grain of salt.

But what I'd really like to do is tell him how much we all miss him.

Waaaa, I'm not happy...

Waaaa, CALL THE WAMBULANCE! Nothing makes me HAPPY!!! My pad thai SUCKS... Enjoy the day, celebrate the fact that you still eat carbs (ewwww, my pad thai was "starchy") PUHLEASE! What makes ME happy is when my NEW YORKER shows up on time (which it did this week). Of course you won't be GETTING the New Yorker anymore so I guess your shot at happiness is over anyway.

Mr. and Dr.

Bru pointed out to me that both the president and vice president are married to doctors. And there's a part of me that's, "Cool; we love smart chicks!" But there's also a part of me that wonders why the girls aren't in charge. 

I'm not trying to say that being a wife and mother isn't important. I'm not trying to say that one has to have a job to be satisfied and fulfilled. What I am saying is that it's a bit too easy for women to step back and let the boys be in charge. If a man had gotten his PhD or law degree and decided to not work, do you think that society would be, "Now there's a guy who's doing the right thing?"

I can't imagine giving up what I've work towards. I went to school for a reason, and it wasn't housework or carpooling. And, sure, that's my choice, but I'll bet if I'd have had kids, I would've heard the "bad mommy" judgments. And I'd bet even more that Mr. HP wouldn't hear anything about, "Have you ever thought about staying home with the children?" Even though I went to school for more years, work longer hours, and make more money.

I'm glad there are smart ladies associated with the powers that be. But nothing against their husbands, I just wish they were the powers that be.

I can't get no

The past few days, I've had the unfortunate luck of things happening that have been vaguely unsatisfying. All minor nonsense, but unsatisfying none the less. 

It started when I made homemade granola this weekend. It seemed like it would be so yummy. Oats, coconut, honey, peanut butter, how bad could it be? I mixed it up, baked it, and it's, well, okay, I guess. I'm not sure where it went wrong. I even added some chocolate. But, hey, every so often, a recipe just doesn't come together.

But the other night I made pad thai. I've made pad thai before, and (I thought) it turned out pretty good, so I was pretty excited about this. Yummy, yummy pad thai and leftovers. What I ended up with, that's not pad thai. I seriously don't know what went wrong, but it's bland and starchy and bleh. So disappointing.

The other night I watched "Last Tango in Paris." I know it's a dirty movie, but isn't it supposed to be some sort of classic? Seriously disappointing. Every character is a mess, but not in an interesting way. I disliked all the characters. And not enough to hate them and hope that something bad happens. I just didn't care at all about what happened.

Sigh. I need something to make me super happy. Any ideas?

A few things about today

What a fabulous day! Everyone seems so happy! It's really great and exciting. I feel like we've turned a page. A horrible, very long page. It may take a while, but I have great hopes for the future. 

My favorite moment: when he was walking down the corridor before he was sworn in, he had That Moment. Have you had That Moment? That Moment of hyper-awareness. I get them when I have big talks. I got one at my wedding. Before I defended my thesis, I knew I would have one. Sure enough, about 20 minutes in, it hit me, "This is it! I am going to be a PhD!" Walking down that corridor, Obama had this serious expression on his face, but then, there was this flicker. This moment where he was about to break into that huge grin, and the realization that this. is. it. It was awesome.

Another thing: yes, it is historic that he is our first black president. I absolutely appreciate that. But this should be a historic occasion because we all have such hope. Because this is a glorious day. Because he is smart and interesting and tolerant. Because, even if he were a white man, this would still be a historic and wonderful occasion. Okay, extra props for the African-American thing. But I want him to just be a great president, no qualifiers. 

The absolute funniest moment was when one of the announcers on MSNBC compared the Bush administration to the Romanovs. I nearly wet my pants.

It's a wonderful day.

I Am a Patriot

So here it is. 1/20/2009. As of Sunday night I knew I couldn't go to work today; who was I kidding thinking that I could? So I sent out an e-mail to my staff and boss to say that I'd be taking a floating holiday on Tuesday 1/20/2009. It could've been a personal day...but this isn't personal; it could've been a vacation...but I'm not vacationing; it could ONLY be a HOLIDAY because that's what it feels like to me. A very patriotic holiday.

And here I am. Glued to my TV. Switching between CNN, WNBC, and MSNBC. And I'm warm, because it is COLD today. So I'm in my favorite place in the whole world. My own home, with my own dogs watching my own TV...ya know why, because I CAN!

I want to see everything. Every smile from the crowds, every outfit Michelle Obama wears, every step of the parade, the moment he lays his hand on Lincoln's bible.

Because ya know, as Miami (Little) (Silvio Dante) Steven VanZandt said several years ago on a great record (yup, a vinyl LP); "I Am a Patriot, I Love my Country..."

Of the memory of late nights

I like my caffeine in two forms: Diet Coke and coffee. For years I've favored the Diet Coke option but lately I've been drinking a lot more coffee. Delicious, wonderful coffee.

I was sort of late to the coffee-drinking game. My parents didn't drink coffee. (They're tea drinkers. Tea!? Boiled leaves. I just don't get it.) I stuck by the Diet Coke all through college. Even once I started working, Steve and I stuck by the cold, carbonate caffeine. "We drink pop!" we would declare, holding onto our midwestern roots. "Pop!" When chemists think you're a dork, well, that's just a bit sad. 

I blame Jerry. He took me to diners and insisted that, once I started grad school, I'd have to drink coffee. (Of course, if Jerry had suggested I chew ground glass, I probably would've taken that up.) Sugar was not allowed, so I started with coffee and cream and haven't changed since. 

I'm kind of picky about how I have my coffee. I like half and half (or, if I can get it, real cream), not milk. Milk waters the whole thing down too much. I won't drink coffee in styrofoam (I can feel the monomer leaching out of the cup. Please see the above statement regarding chemists.) I will drink it out of one of those paper cups, but prefer an actual mug. Although I'm not too picky about the actual coffee, I really can't stand the office brew. If I drink coffee at a restaurant, I stir in an ice cube, which my Nana used to do.

The bad thing about coffee is that it kills my stomach. Until recently, I couldn't drink coffee more than about four days in a row. Since I've been drinking more coffee, my stomach has toughened up, and I've been able to go for over a week. Maybe that's why it was a purge-free Christmas this year.

Even old New York was once New Amsterdam

Last week I got my last issue of "The New Yorker" (assuming I don't re-subscribe). I really do love "The New Yorker" but it's such a time commitment. When I first subscribed, I was in graduate school and had two hours on the train every day, and I could actually keep up. I gave it up for a while, but when I started traveling more for work, I re-subscribed, hoping that during the time I would be traveling, I would keep up. Of course, the job situation has changed, and now I just can't do it. I'm so far behind -- gosh, I hope Obama wins this election!

It's both a good time and a bad time for the subscription to run out. Obviously, I've crazy-busy, so not having a stack of "New Yorker's" is probably a good thing. The bad thing about no longer getting "The New Yorker" is that, dammit, I love that magazine. One of the reasons I get so far behind on my reading is that there are always so many articles in every issue I want to read. I always feel like I learn something when I read "The New Yorker." Also, I'm enough of a poser to admit that I like carrying an issue around, marking myself as an East-coast liberal. 

Now I will have to rely on Bru to send me interesting articles. But I may actually be able to read more books (and then get rid of them.) This is a good thing. And, hopefully, soon my life will calm down and I can go back to being an East-coast poser. A girl can dream.

Feelin' alright

I'm actually starting to feel like the house is coming together, and we may be able to sell the thing. The closets are cleaned out, the rooms are getting organized, the junk is getting hidden. We're doing the rearranging, I've put away a lot of books, I'm starting to think we're almost ready to put it on the market. I'm starting to almost calm down a bit.

Hey! We have deer in our backyard right this very minute! Seriously, one of them is looking right into our family room. Come on, wouldn't you love to live here?

I'm sure I will have moments of panic and, in my head, I still have a huge list of things to do. I will be walking through the house next week, and I will see all of the flaws and all of the reasons no one will buy our house. But tonight, I'm feeling good and relatively calm. For once, I'm just going to enjoy this feeling and stop fretting so damn much.

Next step

I've been pretty good about the blog lately, and I'm wondering what the next step should be. I started the blog to become a better writer, and, although I don't know if I'm there yet, I sort of feel that I need to at least start think about the next step.

Am I ready to try to identify myself as a writer? Because, if I am, I need to be doing more than blogging. I need to maybe write a story or something like that. But fiction? Memoir? Commentary? To be published? Just a longer than average blog? It is a puzzlement.

I'm thinking more along the line of commentary/memoir type thing. Sort of like the stuff my girl Sarah writes. I just worry that I'll end up copying her voice rather than finding my own. For that reason, I'll stay away from politics and history. Now I just have to have the guts to go forward.

Don't go changing

Moving and getting the house ready to sell is not bringing out the best side of me or Mr. Higgy-Piggie. I'm certainly even more frantic and insane and, frankly, bitchy. I feel like not enough is being done, our house it too boring/ugly/cluttered, no one is even going to look at the place. I just feel like there is so much to do and there's no chance to just breathe. 

Unfortunately, picking up the pace is not Mr. HP's strong suit. Actually, the whole move has not played to Mr. HP's strengths, which, of course, makes me more, well, all of the above. I want to him to do more quicker, but that's just not how he is. He's never been that way, but, and this is the issue, I want him to be different. I want him to be running around like a dope (like me). I want him to be go, go, go.

Is fair to ask him to change? He's always been this way; in fact, under other circumstances, I like his laid-back approach to life. He's a good counter balance to me when we don't have a million things to do. But I need him to behave differently right now, and it frustrates me because he remains the same. In addition to the frustration I feel about that, I also feel guilty for putting pressure on him to change. I feel like I'm being unfair to him. 

Here's the question: if you need something from someone, how much is fair? How much can you demand? Should you love the person for who they are? Should the person be willing to change for you? 

Lucky or unlucky

Because you need further evidence of my insanity, let me tell you how superstitious I am about jewelry. Even though I know that the following statement makes no sense, I feel like I have lucky and unlucky jewelry. One pair of earrings: lucky; another pair: not so much. If I have a big meeting or something, I'm wearing the lucky earrings, because if something goes wrong, clearly, it's the fault of my earrings.

But it gets worse. 

I also work in combination. For example, certain necklaces are to be worn only with certain earrings. Because, somehow, they work together. God forbid you mix this necklace with those earrings, well, forget it, the day is going to be a mess. Pack it in; go home.

I'm also convinced that the karma of the jewelry might change, so every so often I mix it up a bit. Sure, it's a risk -- it could backfire and be a bad luck combination. Like, a really bad luck combination. Because a bad day, it's all about the earrings. And don't get me started on clothes...

I am crazy.

I don't want you to know how weak I am

Confession time. Lately, I have been feeling incredibly overwhelmed. The job, the move, getting the house ready to sell, the weather, it's all been crashing in on me the past few days. I feel like I am on the edge of crying all the time. The worst thing is that I am so afraid that if I start crying, I just may never stop.

I hate this. I hate feeling weak. I hate not being the strong person who can handle it all. I hate that I want to cry on someone's shoulder, but I don't want to ask anyone to be that person. I hate being that girl who cries, and I hate the idea of you seeing me cry.

I want to be tough. I don't want you to see that I am struggling. I'm okay, here on my own. I'll figure it out. I don't need you to help me. I don't understand why I am so obsessed with not depending on anyone, but there it is. 

"The trick is not to mind it."

Extra Picture

Nana and Aunt Lil. I accidentally created an entry and can't delete, so this is your bonus. Nana's on the left.

Maybe he's not, but I'll bet he is

I'm back on hulu, watching movies from the '80s. Tonight's selection: "Fatal Attraction", although I'm guessing I won't watch the whole thing. I've seen the last part enough times (spoiler alert: the bunny dies), but can't remember seeing the beginning, how and why they hook up, etc. Anyway, as I start the movie, I realize that Michael Douglas almost always plays the guy who is, well, a tool. Sure, he's an actor, so that doesn't mean he is a tool, but, come on, do you always have to play that guy?

But think about it. The guy in "Fatal Attraction." The husband in "War of the Roses." The director in "A Chorus Line." Heck, he won an Oscar for the ultimate tool: Gordon Gekko in "Wall Street." And if he'd shown a lot of range in other projects, I'd say he's probably a really great actor, but he's always. a. tool. I'm just suspicious.

Yeah, it's not too deep today -- I'm in a really bad mood. It's about stupid things; I'm sure you won't be interested. 

And for those of you keeping track: the Martha trip got cancelled. So at least that's a relief.

Martha Stewart hates me

My sister is a big fan of Rachel Ray and Martha Stewart. So, a few months back, she writes to get tickets to the taping of a show, and she waits. This Friday she hears from Martha (well, not directly): she's got tickets to the January 27 show. Yay for her! So, like the good sister she is, she asks if I want to go. Actually, that's not strong enough -- she really wants me to go with her and Mom, sort of a girls' trip to New York.

The problem is about 10-fold. It's really a terrible time: we're trying to get the house ready to sell (and still have a ton, a ton of cleaning and rearranging to do), work is nuts, I have no vacation time, we're thinking of moving the cat down the weekend before, I have the first meeting of my bookclub that night (and I really wasn't planning to read "The Monk" just for fun.) I just feel like I really can't do it.

However, I also feel like I'm always letting my sister down. Last week I asked her to make me some window treatments in a hurry, and, no questions, she's on it. She's sent me some fabric samples, she's got ideas, and I'm sure they will be ready in a couple of weeks, in time for when the house goes on the market. She wants me to go see "Martha" with her -- sorry, no can do.

The worst thing is that my sister will be absolutely understanding about the whole thing. No guilt trip, nothing. It's just unfair. I could never be that nice. So, I'm trying to figure out if there's anyway I can do this, but it just makes me tired to think about it.

I blame Martha.

Sexy talk

Yesterday's Oprah (shut up, you're just jealous) was one of those "your best life" episodes and the topic was sex. In all fairness, I didn't see the whole show (but I did read about it later on-line), but I do have a bit of a problem with the approach. The basic theme was that men want it and ladies, not so much. And, ladies, you need to step up to the plate.

I have a couple of issues with this. The first is the assumption that men always want sex and women are the ones doing the pushing away. Assuming that it's natural and part of life, then we should both have desires. Of course, everyone has different levels of interest, sometimes the boy will have a higher drive and sometimes it'll be the girl. So either Oprah has found a bunch of women who just aren't that interested in sex, which is certainly possible, or maybe there are other factors. Like, maybe women have to deal with more, like housework, kids, etc. Just saying. (or, maybe, she says in a very tiny voice, he's just not very good at it.)

But I do think there are women who have the drive and the man is less interested. In some ways, this is more of a social issues, as the assumption is that, if the woman wants sex, it shouldn't be a problem. And, sorry Oprah, you dropped the ball on that issue.

Another issue I have is the advice that the woman has to be the one to step it up. If the man wants more sex than he is getting, well, ladies, what are you going to do about it? Clearly, it is your issue, not his. What if the woman is perfectly happy with the amount of sex she is getting? Why does she have to alter her behavior? And what about a few lessons for the boys, so that they could maybe make it worth her while?

The follow-up question is, what to do if drives are different? I mean, I hate housework, so we hired someone to clean the house. I'm just saying.

Protection

Today someone asked me if I had ever had my heart broken. (I know it sounds weird -- how does something like that come up in a conversation, but it was actually fine.) I said that of course I had had my heart broken. And I think I have. At least a little bit. But maybe only a little bit.

I've been thinking about the times I'd say that my heart was broken. First of all, I can't think of a time I was really heartbroken after the age of about 18. When I think of the boys who broke my heart, even a little bit, I think of the crush I had my sophomore year of high school or the guy who dumped me for my best friend. And when I think of being heartbroken, I think of moments, not periods in my live. I remember feeling bad for a day, maybe a few, but not much more than that. Weeks of heartbreak, well, that's never happened to me. 

Was it really heartbreak?

It all comes back to that control issue I have. Of course it does; I'm not an idiot. The boyfriends I chose, they gave me a lot of the control in the relationship. It's so much easier when I'm in charge of where things are going. To have the upper hand. It was also easier to keep people at a bit of a distance. 

I sometimes wonder what it would have been like just to throw myself completely into a relationship. Would have it been wonderful? Would it have been exciting and fantastic and life-altering? Would it have destroyed me when it ended? Would I have ever stopped crying?

Would it have broken my heart?

What a girl wants

I was thinking about winning the lottery. Yes, this is a realistic concern, especially since the odds are clearly in my favor and I don't actually buy lottery tickets. This does not prevent me from think about what I would do with the winnings. And I realized I was absolutely stumped. If I won the lottery, I really don't know what I would do. I might quit my job, but, then again, I'm not sure what else I would do. I might move, but I don't know where I would want to live. Would I travel? I suppose, but there's a limit to how much I would want to travel. I also like to be home, although right now I have too many and not enough homes.

The question is: should I know (or at least have an idea) of what I would do if I won the lottery? Of course, as it's not realistic, it's somewhat a waste of time to dream about having millions. But I actually think it's a good idea to consider what you would do if you won the lottery, because it helps you decide what is important to you. If you would travel if you had a million dollars, but you're not traveling now, well, maybe you need to be rethinking what you're doing with your time and money now. And if you would quit your job the second you won the lottery, maybe you need a new job. I know it's not realistic to just up and quit your job, but maybe you should be taking steps to change your job.

It concerns me that I don't know what I would do if money, time, resources, etc., were not concerns. Right now, at this point in my life, I don't know what I want. And if I don't know what I want, I don't know what steps I should be taking. I guess I always figure I should be working towards something, and I'm not sure what it should be these days. It's been a while since I've had some sort of goal to reach for.

However, it may good for me to just be for a while.

Flashback time!

Hulu has all of these free movies and today I'm watching "St. Elmo's Fire." First off, it's awesomely dated. First scene, Andrew McCarthy is not only smoking inside, he's smoking in a hospital! Ha! The shoulder pads, the high-waisted jeans, the saxophone! God, I miss the '80s.

I'm embarrassed to say that when I first saw this movie, I thought the characters were so cool and interesting. Okay, Demi Moore and Rob Lowe play messes, but the rest of them seemed cool to me, still in college in Toledo, Ohio. But watching it now, they're all such assholes. Mare Winningham is the only one who seems to be at least a tiny bit un-asshole, but they all kind of make fun of her. She's fat, she's dating the wrong guy, she's getting money from her dad. And friends are the perfect ones to point that out to her. Friends who are cheating on their mates, drinking too much, stalking, calling each other in the middle of the night, doing and selling drugs. Yes, please give me shit about wearing a girdle. Jerks.

No image today. Blogger won't let me upload. Try to be strong.