Thrilled with the SC outcome, even though I still want M. Dowd for Prez. But Barack will do.
Update: Worst. Movie. Ever. (Untraceable) Better dinner... steak au poivre at Jean-Claude. Yum.
"Honest. Gritty." (New York Times) "All too real. I laughed... I cried." (Wall Street Journal) "Rather dull, really." (New York Review of Blogs) "Someone needs a new hobby." (My friend Jeff)
Interesting confluence of non-events. Much like my life to date. Weekend update. Firstly, I trudged to Filene's Basement for a pair of tights and while groveling through the Petite section's 60% racks (who knew!) there was a sudden kerfuffle, a small gasp, a scream, and some indecipherable muttering over by the dressing room area, which I normally avoid like the plague.
It took me a while (loitering in the Junior's sportswear section nearby, where I have no business) to figure out that it was a RAT!!!!
No, it wasn't. It was a.... gigantic cockroach. Which is like 10 times worse. By this time, the screams had reached fever pitch and I was rendered paralyzed near Puma until someone said, "oh, now it's on the wall." I left shortly thereafter.
Earlier, I had watched the History Channel's "Life After Humans," a pretty well done piece of work* (which of course spotlighted our cockroach friends as survivors), so I was able to superimpose Life After Humans onto Filene's Basement, which is pretty cool. Lots of crappy cotton jersey and one-ply cashmere to devour. Not that I myself partake of that shit.
Oh. Two more things. I was reminded -- thinking of the possible rat (see above) of the writers' strike (which makes me think of gigantic blow-up striking rat which made me remember New Year's Eve and the lovely woman I met who actually worked at Troma Films (Toxic Avenger, Class of Nuke 'Em High) briefly. How cool and weird!. Just after film school, I interviewed with Troma's Lloyd Kaufman, was offered an impressive $14K a year job, left with a -- well, creepy-crawly feeling -- and never looked back. Looking back now, however, I wonder how differently my life might have turned out.
The road not taken, at any rate, seems as littered with creepy crawlies as the one taken. Now for some tea and Jane Austen. Good night.
* "Life After Humans" also mentioned my beloved home state of Maine (Black Island, precisely) where abandoned stone structures apparently just "melt" after fifty or eighty years, due, in large part, at once to the surprisingly verdant land and the corrosiveness of salt in the air and water.
How to get all this down. Hm. Okay, we'll start with my mother, since I started with her. You know, originally. I called her today after the NH primary, waiting precisely 16 hours to make sure she had time to get over her angst and grief re: Obama/Hillary.
And she didn't disappoint, being the funny woman she is. She went through the stages, she said, from feeling like punching someone, to reading the Times -- and specifically Maureen Dowd's "Can Hillary Cry Her Way to the White House?"-- which was apparently the cure to her (Mom's) woe. (I think I forgot a stage or two; sorry Mom.)
Right on, sister. Those tears, man. Genuine? Sure. (And I refuse to see the video.) But acting? Sure. Hill (not my mom) is too smart to have a true moment of private sadness in public. It's hard to fake tears but stress helps alot.
Other talking points via mom:
1) Hillary can't use tears again. Can't can't can't. For the remainder of the primaries. So she used a lethal weapon way too early.
2) Obama IS electable. But only if the right-minded (and I mean left-minded) folks who keep whispering "But do you really see a black man in the White House?" stop it. Just stop it. As a nation, we're highly unlikely to get more progressive and suddenly enlighted, so why are we waiting for the fucking chimera of that future day?
3) I went to bed after the news and fell asleep listening to NPR, heard Obama's speech and thought: he's gotta watch it. He sounded too oratorily (is that a word?) hortatory and leaned a little too far into the preachy rhythms and repetition that bring to my mind a Jesse Jackson or an Al Sharpton. That technique can work but can also be very off-putting. Politics is rhetoric, sure; adding the gloss of the preacherman cadence can effectively tarnish the message. I may be overthinking it, but words and sound are my thing...
4) My mother howled at friend Bob's explanation of the weird discrepancy between the early polling in NH and the outcome. He said that (and I'm totally paraphrasing but it rings SO true to me, having relatives there) that New Hampshirians (is that a word?) hate unsolicited phone calls and, being bombarded with them due to the primary, just started saying whatever. Not lying, per se, but.... whatever. So. There you go.
5) There's certainly still hope. Obama needed a small failure to galvanize his support -- and earlier is better than later.
6) The media suck. Why talk about actual issues and position in depth when they can pant about the horse race? [insert sports metaphor here]
7) Whoever uses "hope" and "change" next in a speech deserves to lose. Hello, get a thesaurus.
8) The nightmare scenario brings it all home: President Huckleberry. We then veered off-course to discuss whether plastic surgery can give us dimples, since they're so effective as a"likeability" factor.
I'm trying to take the long view here, people. We live in the Holocene (which does, unfortunately, sound like Hollow Scene). I'm trying to figure out what the next age is going to be called and when it'll start but I'm not finding it. I'll keep you posted.
Bad news on the fitness front: my new small terrorist cat popped my giant FitBALL™. I only wish I had been there to witness it. And thanks, Salsa, for yet another good excuse not to do sit-ups.