It's coming! It's coming! YOU GUYS, IT'S ALMOST TIME FOR MY TRIP!!!!
I leave TOMORROW for Europe and I won't be back for FIVE WEEKS!
FIVE WEEKS!
I'M FREAKING THE HELL OUT!!!! (Clearly.)
I finally managed to get my backpack down the paltry carry-on weight allowance. (Eight kilograms? Really, AirBerlin? Do you find that most of your passengers tend to carry on nothing but a tiny clutch containing a single sheet of paper and, like, two saltines? What gives?) The bright side to this absurdly low weight limit is that I will have no problem trekking around with my possessions (all eight kilograms of them) strapped to my back. The downside is that I had to jettison my more stylish outfits for practical things. Now all the Europeans will know I'm a tourist. I mean, if the giant backpack didn't give it away. (Okay, so maybe I'm not that much worse off than I was.)
My rail pass and train tickets have arrived. I've got fancy-schmancy Rail Pass Insurance that will protect me from Rail Pass Thieves. I have--get this--not just any rail pass but a first class rail pass for the entirety of France! (RailEurope was running a special promotion and first class rail passes were actually cheaper than second class.) You know that this means? Do you?! It means a SLIGHTLY WIDER SEAT and SLIGHTLY MORE LEG ROOM! Because if there's one thing most 5'2 women need in their public transport, it's more leg room. Regardless, I am excited to travel across my beloved France in theoretical, if not actual, luxury.
But I haven't confined my travel preparations to simply buying train tickets. Oh no! I've been--if you'll allow me to use the technical term--"GoogleMapping the shit out of everything." And I don't mean that I plugged in some addresses for directions from the train station to my hostel (although I've done that, too). I mean I went up into StreetView and spent a morning tootling around the English countryside so I could effectively plan the hike from my really remote rural hostel to the bus station. I made my mother "accompany" me. I made up a "Walking to Town" song. I think I might be more emotionally attached to GoogleMaps than I am to some people. Believe me when I say that I'm taking this crap SERIOUSLY.
And speaking of taking things seriously, can we talk about my itinerary? It is a six-tab GoogleDoc spreadsheet extravaganza that details not only my daily activities but also contains every detail of my trains, flights, and accommodations. It has directions to and from all my hostels. There is an entire tab devoted to foods I want to eat. Basically, it is your go-to reference if I disappear and you want to tell the State Department about the activities that led to my unfortunate demise. It can also double as a plot outline for the ludicrously-named Lifetime movie that will be based on my disappearance. Let's start spitballing titles now! I like The Trip of a Lifetime--it sounds suitably melodramatic and ominous and it advertises the network right in the title! Efficient--almost as efficient as my method of knapsack-packing (roll, don't fold)!
And yet, I still have a ton to do. I have to repack my backpack, since halfway through this week I realized that I was not done wearing some of the clothes that I'd already packed. There are prescriptions to fill, checks to deposit, international data plans to figure out (damn you, AT&T, why can't anyone give me a straight answer?!), batteries to charge, and lists to double-check, triple-check, and quadruple check. I have a lot on my mind, to say the least.
But this time tomorrow, I will be somewhere over the Atlantic, (hopefully) sleeping peacefully and gearing up for what will be--for better or worse--a grand adventure.
Allons-y!
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Thumbs Up, Thumbs Down: Euro-Trip Planning Edition
Thumbs up: Booked my flight!
Thumbs down: Now that I can't change it, I wish I'd left a day earlier. Of course.
Thumbs up: I did, however, tack an extra three days onto my trip. Hello Cotswolds, I'm coming for you now.
Thumbs down: I still need to book my Munich to Nice and Paris to Edinburgh flights.
Thumbs up: Found a Munich to Nice flight that is literally half the price of the cheapest one I found earlier.
Thumbs down: It will entail waking up at 4 am, walking to the train station at 5, and being at the airport at 6 for a 7:10 flight.
Thumbs up: I'm an early riser and a cheapskate. I've been training for this moment my entire life.
Further thumbs up: Get into Nice early enough to spend the afternoon at the beach (probably napping, since I woke up at 4 am). I could live with that.
Thumbs down: The hostel I was planning on staying at Menton (which I stayed at and really liked the last time I was in France) apparently has fallen off the face of the earth / no longer exists / is abandoned.
Further thumbs down: All other Menton hostels are too expensive.
Thumbs up: Nearby Nice has hostels! Cheap ones! It has the hostel voted Best Hostel in France! Count me in!
Thumbs down: RIP, YHA Menton Hostel. I will miss your fantastic view and the fact that I literally had to climb an Alp, walk through an RV campsite, skirt about a hundred people's backyards, and pass by a goat pen just to get to your front door.
Thumbs up: I rediscovered Sandemans New Europe Tours today. (I took two of their tours when I was in London and loved them both.) They also offer tours in Prague, Munich, Paris, and Edinburgh, all of which I will be taking advantage of (!!!).
Further thumbs up: They offer a tour out of Munich to Neuschwanstein! Now I don't have to deal with the transportation headache that is negotiating the train/bus transfers to Hohenschwangau without knowing German.
Thumbs down: I will not be able to take advantage of the day tour to Kutna Hora (which looks bizarre and AWESOME...yes, those are actual human bones) because I will not be in Prague long enough. DAMN YOU, SCHEDULE! (see above, re: cannot change trip dates but wish I'd left earlier).
Thumbs up: Saving money by replacing my expensive day trip to Lindau, a pretty island town on Lake Konstanz, with a much cheaper tour of Dachau, the only concentration camp to be in operation for the entirety of the Third Reich.
Thumbs down: I will miss you, Lindau, you look so pretty. =(
Thumbs up: Saving $120, BAM.
Thumbs down: Still so much planning! So much to do / buy / research!
Thumbs up: I'M GOING BACK TO EUROPE, SUCKAS!!!!
Thumbs down: Now that I can't change it, I wish I'd left a day earlier. Of course.
Thumbs up: I did, however, tack an extra three days onto my trip. Hello Cotswolds, I'm coming for you now.
Thumbs down: I still need to book my Munich to Nice and Paris to Edinburgh flights.
Thumbs up: Found a Munich to Nice flight that is literally half the price of the cheapest one I found earlier.
Thumbs down: It will entail waking up at 4 am, walking to the train station at 5, and being at the airport at 6 for a 7:10 flight.
Thumbs up: I'm an early riser and a cheapskate. I've been training for this moment my entire life.
Further thumbs up: Get into Nice early enough to spend the afternoon at the beach (probably napping, since I woke up at 4 am). I could live with that.
Thumbs down: The hostel I was planning on staying at Menton (which I stayed at and really liked the last time I was in France) apparently has fallen off the face of the earth / no longer exists / is abandoned.
Further thumbs down: All other Menton hostels are too expensive.
Thumbs up: Nearby Nice has hostels! Cheap ones! It has the hostel voted Best Hostel in France! Count me in!
Thumbs down: RIP, YHA Menton Hostel. I will miss your fantastic view and the fact that I literally had to climb an Alp, walk through an RV campsite, skirt about a hundred people's backyards, and pass by a goat pen just to get to your front door.
Thumbs up: I rediscovered Sandemans New Europe Tours today. (I took two of their tours when I was in London and loved them both.) They also offer tours in Prague, Munich, Paris, and Edinburgh, all of which I will be taking advantage of (!!!).
Further thumbs up: They offer a tour out of Munich to Neuschwanstein! Now I don't have to deal with the transportation headache that is negotiating the train/bus transfers to Hohenschwangau without knowing German.
Thumbs down: I will not be able to take advantage of the day tour to Kutna Hora (which looks bizarre and AWESOME...yes, those are actual human bones) because I will not be in Prague long enough. DAMN YOU, SCHEDULE! (see above, re: cannot change trip dates but wish I'd left earlier).
Thumbs up: Saving money by replacing my expensive day trip to Lindau, a pretty island town on Lake Konstanz, with a much cheaper tour of Dachau, the only concentration camp to be in operation for the entirety of the Third Reich.
Thumbs down: I will miss you, Lindau, you look so pretty. =(
Thumbs up: Saving $120, BAM.
Thumbs down: Still so much planning! So much to do / buy / research!
Thumbs up: I'M GOING BACK TO EUROPE, SUCKAS!!!!
Monday, December 31, 2012
Trendsetting: The Year In Review
Okay, can I be real with you guys for a minute? I want to be a trendsetter. I don't mean a "trendsetter" in the way that Jennifer Aniston and "the Rachel" were trendsetters in the mid-nineties. I mean I want trendsetting in and of itself to become a viable career option, and I would like to get in on it.
I have my suspicions that this is already happening in some sort of (figuratively) underground boardroom, and that there is a cabal of random people who just sit down at the beginning of the year and decide what our culture is going to collectively obsess over for the next 365 days (or, in the case of this particular year, 366 days). As absolutely insane as that theory is, I think it's the most likely of all the possibilities. How else can one explain the trends that characterized 2012?
In my quest to become a part of this elite, presumably cracked-out group of visionaries, I would like to prove my worth by recapping the trends of 2012 and then, in my next post (if I remember and/or feel like it), offering my own suggestions for 2013. Feel free to get in on this with me. Together we can build a better future--or at least a more amusingly scattershot one.
1. Cupcakes
Oh, the Cupcakes. This isn't really so much a new development as it is the final stage of a years-long pop culture takeover. The Cupcakes have their own reality shows. The Cupcakes have cutesy storefront bakeries in bourgeois city neighborhoods. The Cupcakes have their own cookbooks. For the love of Jesus, the Cupcakes even have their own Cupcake ATM. (Full disclosure: I visited it and spent $4 on one cupcake.)
The Cupcakes have seamlessly integrated themselves into every dietary lifestyle. Vegan? No problem, here's a 450-calorie cupcake for you! Gluten-free? The Cupcakes LOVE gluten-free! I haven't got any word firsthand on the situation for diabetics, and logic tells me it probably ain't so great, but if you look at the Cupcakes' track record you realize there's no way in hell they're going to miss out on an entire demographic, so there's probably also a diabetes-friendly cupcake bakery out there.
Can't nobody stop the cupcakes. Not even...
2. Doctor Who
Okay, maybe it's just because I started watching Doctor Who this year so it starting showing up on my own personal trends radar, but I'm not entirely sure that's the case. For one thing, it's the first BBC show to air simultaneously in the US and the UK, which is indicative, I think, of the level of fan-obsession over here. Plus there was that Entertainment Weekly cover story (which I made the mistake of reading before I was all caught up--a simple "spoiler alert" might've been nice, EW). And then Matt Smith and Karen Gillan attended the US seventh season premiere in a Delorean, and everyone was like "TIME TRAVEL GEEKERY!" and I was like, "I'm embarrassed for everyone involved in this right now. Also, wrong time travel fandom."
But long story short, Doctor Who. It came, it saw, it conquered, although possibly not in that order. Wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey and all that.
But even Time Lords can't one-up Maggie Smith and...
3. Downton Abbey
Holy crap, Downton Abbey. I am going to give you a list of people with whom I have discussed Downton Abbey in-depth. See if you can guess which one is untrue:
a.) My roommates
b.) My sorority sisters
c.) Girls rushing my sorority
c.) Members of my a cappella group
d.) My (male) thesis advisor
e.) My mother
GOTCHA! It was a trick question, because I have had in-depth conversations about Downton Abbey with all of these people! I have even had legitimate Downton Abbey viewing parties (featuring tea, scones, and cheese straws) with some of these people! And I swear to you that this is not just me. I read an entire New York Times article about Americans holding Downton events where people have sit-down fancy dinners in period dress. (The juxtaposition of wearing Edwardian clothing while watching television, possibly the same set on which one DVR'd Jersey Shore just days before, apparently has done nothing to deter anyone.)
Bookstores reported spikes in the sales of early twentieth-centuiry historical non-fiction and in period fiction, e.g. Jane Austen. (The fact that Jane Austen died almost one hundred years before Downton's action begins has apparently not deterred anyone, either. "It's old! It's British! There are stuffy society types falling in love! SAME DAMN THING!" says everyone in America.) My public library had a Downton Abbey-themed shelf that practically smacked you in the face on the way in the door. In the interest of full disclosure, I did borrow a book from said shelf: Governess: The Life and Times of the Real Jane Eyres, by Ruth Brandon. Again, it was all about a time period fifty years before the Edwardian era, but still! Brits! Class division! History! Apparently, according to America, there are four stages of British history:
1. Stonehenge-builders (prehistory-middle ages)
2. Monty Python-esque villagers wallowing in mud (middle ages-Renaissance)
3. Uppity snobs who like taxing tea, etc. (eighteenth century - post-WWII)
4. THE BEATLES! Also, still sort of uppity. (1960s-present day)
Speaking of the Beatles, let's draw some comparisons to...
4. One Direction
Or, rather, let's not. I know a lot of people were calling this "the second British invasion." Presumably these people didn't realize that the second British invasion already happened in the eighties. Then again, the majority of One Direction's fanbase probably didn't come of age until the next century--nay, the next millenium--so I suppose you really can't blame them. In fact, kudos to them for knowing enough to try to draw the parallel in the first place. (See, I'm not always mean and bitter!)
I won't lie to you, I own Up All Night and have listened to it in its entirety. I know all the words to "What Makes You Beautiful" and "One Thing." I also know every single boy band harmony in both of these songs. They're catchy, I get it. If you think about it, it's basically five Justin Biebers, but with accents, which is why I try not to think about it.
But seriously. They were at the Olympics. Nothing says "Enjoy your place in the zeitgeist" like performing at the Olympics. Speaking of which...
5. Gabby Douglas and the Olympics
I know, it sounds sort of like she started an all-girl pop group, right? It has a way better ring to it than "Gabby Douglas, her hair, and the Olympics," which is what everyone made it out to be. I mean, really, people. Gabby Douglas just won an Olympic gold medal and became the first African-American all-around individual Olympic champion, and we're gonna talk about her hair? Seriously. Two questions, America:
1. What did your hair look like when you were sixteen? I want prom photos.
2. What did you do in your teens that even comes close to winning the freaking Olympics? That's what I thought.
Gabby Douglas, you rock on into 2013. Gabby Douglas's hairstyle, your moment is long over. It should never have been a moment to begin with.
After all that nonsensical hullabaloo, the Olympic Games themselves were kind of playing second fiddle. Except that everyone enjoyed comparing them unfavorably to the Beijing Olympics. Go easy on the Brits, mmkay, guys? Everyone knows they're uppity and were probably too busy unfairly taxing luxury goods and/or wallowing in mud somewhere to really put in the effort. They built Stonehenge at least. Give them some credit.
No doubt about it, summer belonged to the Olympics. Except, wait, what's this? I think we've found a challenger in...
6. Frozen yogurt
Hey, America! Remember how you all love to bitch about college dining hall food?! Let's take the best part of a college dining hall, slap it into a strip mall, and then charge you even more exorbitantly than a college meal plan would! Sound good?
Seriously, though, I went through the first twenty-two years of my life without it ever occurring to me to go out for frozen yogurt. Ice cream, yes. Frozen yogurt, not so much. And then within a six-month span, no fewer than five frozen yogurt places opened up within a fifteen-minute drive of my house. Let me give you some perspective here by listing things that are not within fifteen minutes of my house:
7. Painting one nail a different color than the rest
Fun fact: this trend apparently started as a way to identify femme lesbians, but then of course mainstream culture got a hold of it and totally divested it of any sort of meaning beyond "I like hot pink nail polish, but I also like acid green nail polish!"
I've seen maybe one or two people wear it well. Everyone else looks like they forgot midway through their manicures which color they were using. And that, my friends, is all I have to say on that score.
8. Every iteration of "Call Me Maybe"
And with that total lack of segue, let's talk about "Call Me Maybe." I think the lack of segue here is appropriate, personally, seeing as "Call Me Maybe" really did just come out of nowhere. It's not as if America was sitting around in the spring of 2012 going, "You know what the world is missing? A really twee song with some violins and a dance beat. Someone should get on that." Carly Rae Jepsen to the rescue!
What separated "Call Me Maybe" from every other ostensibly-much-reviled-yet-universally-known-and-sort-of-guiltily-enjoyed hit single this year, however, was the fact that it became such a youtube cover sensation. Basically if you were in a group with more than four other people and one of you had some sort of recording device, you were making a video of yourself singing along to this song. And that is the sort of thing that earned "Call Me Maybe" a spot on this list. I bet it was thinking it was all special and unique, too, until...
9. "Gangnam Style"
It has an SNL skit (where the punchline is literally just a recording of the song. There is no other overarching joke. "Gangnam Style" is it. Also, 0:55-0:57 pretty much sums up what happened when I introduced this phenomenon to my mother). It is the most-liked video on youtube. It has med-school parodies. It has a BILL NYE THE SCIENCE GUY PARODY. You will never escape this song. It will be like the Macarena--at parties twenty years from now, your drunk, nostalgic friends will be shouting "AAYYYYYYYY, SEXY LAAAADYYYYYY" and doing this and just generally looking like they've been possessed.
Speaking of being possessed...
10. Paranormal"reality" shows
Guys. Guys. Guys. No, shut up! Did you hear that? It was like a bang, or maybe a boom, or like, I don't know, footsteps. Naw, dude, seriously! I totally heard it! Since houses never settle, and wild animals never roam around abandoned buildings, and vagrants never sneak in, and the wind never blows things over, and there aren't like three of us wandering around in an unfamiliar setting in total darkness, it MUST BE A GHOST! It's the only explanation that makes any sense! Quick, call in the Long Island medium or those people from Dead Files, because we're only a demonic pig sighting and a movie deal away from the next Amityville Horror!
Ugh. Let's talk about hedgehogs.
11. Hedgehogs
These adorable little bastards took over the internet. I mean, you still have videos and pictures and gifs of cats and dogs doing cute stuff, but hedgehogs just came out of nowhere and were like, "Hey, world, we're pretty cute, too." I mean, they have their own category on Buzzfeed. Hedgehogs! Who knew! I mean, come on, how does this not make you go "awwwwww"?
Hedgehogs might melt your heart, but you know what will eat your brains?
12. Zombies
So in right now. I think they might be stealing the Murderous Supernatural Beings Pop Culture Juggernaut Award from vampires, which, let's face it, have had their day. Had I been writing this last year (or the year before that, or the year before THAT), it would have been all about Twilight, Vampire Diaries, True Blood, etc., etc. This year everyone is crazy for The Walking Dead. Given that there's a zombie rom-com coming out in February, it looks like our collective zombie obsession is going to continue into 2013. Everyone get your battle axes (or whatever it is you use to kill zombies, I'm not really up on my zombie lore) ready. Or you could just visit the CDC's web page on zombie apocalypse preparedness. Your call.
You know what confuses me as much as zombie imposters confuse real zombies?
13. Mustaches
I don't understand this. At all. It used to be that mustaches, when they acknowledged at all, were derided as creepy-looking or tool-y. Now suddenly mustaches are the "in" thing--not necessarily as legitimate facial hair, but as a design motif. In my shopping adventures, I have seen mustaches emblazoned on notebooks, mugs, and t-shirts. The phrase "I mustache you a question" pops unbidden into my head far more frequently than I would like. I thought this trend was so stupid, but it's become so common and ingrained in popular culture that I've started to be like, "Oh, that's a cute mustache t-shirt" instead of "WHY IS THERE A MUSTACHE T-SHIRT?!" Of course, stuff like this might have helped. I suppose there's only one thing to do in a situation like this...
14. "Keep Calm and Carry On"
Or keep calm and dance on, keep calm and wait for iPhone 5 (ugh, don't even get me started), keep calm and edit copy, keep calm and add butter, keep calm and talk to Mr. Feeny or, one of my personal favorites, keep calm and carry on, my wayward son. If you want to talk about ubiquity (a word I have used more in this blog post than I did in the entirety of 2012, thank you very much), here you go. "Keep Calm and Carry On" and its various variations (some of which are infinitely more clever than others) are everywhere. On the off-chance that you do not believe me, I will prove it by providing you with a "Keep Calm and Verb-Blankety-Blank" for every single item on this list. (This will also prove how spot-on all my other list items were. Grand finale time!)
I did not make up any of these myself (despite the existence of a "Keep Calm and Carry On" automatic phrase generator). These were all culled from the tangled mess that is Google Image Search. You are welcome, friends.
1. Keep Calm and Have a Cupcake. Or bake them, whatever.
2. Keep Calm, I'm the Doctor (I have this on a magnet. Also, there a million hilarious Doctor Who "Keep Calm"s, my favorite being "Keep Calm and Basically, Run.")
3. Keep Calm and Watch Downtown Abbey
4. Keep Calm and Love One Direction. Guys, there is an entire tumblr for this. I can't even. Just...why.
5. Keep Calm, It's Only the Olympics
6. Keep Calm and Eat Frozen Yogurt
7. Keep Calm and Get a Manicure
8. Keep Calm and Call Me Maybe
9. Keep Calm and Gangnam Style (It's a verb now? Has it always been a verb?)
10. Keep Calm and Hunt Ghosts
11. Keep Calm, Be a Hedgehog
12.Keep Calm and Carry On Run, Zombies Are Coming!
13. Keep Calm and Grow a Mustache
14. Keep Calm and Stop Remaking This F---ing Poster Already
Fare thee well, dear 2012. It's been real.
I have my suspicions that this is already happening in some sort of (figuratively) underground boardroom, and that there is a cabal of random people who just sit down at the beginning of the year and decide what our culture is going to collectively obsess over for the next 365 days (or, in the case of this particular year, 366 days). As absolutely insane as that theory is, I think it's the most likely of all the possibilities. How else can one explain the trends that characterized 2012?
In my quest to become a part of this elite, presumably cracked-out group of visionaries, I would like to prove my worth by recapping the trends of 2012 and then, in my next post (if I remember and/or feel like it), offering my own suggestions for 2013. Feel free to get in on this with me. Together we can build a better future--or at least a more amusingly scattershot one.
1. Cupcakes
Oh, the Cupcakes. This isn't really so much a new development as it is the final stage of a years-long pop culture takeover. The Cupcakes have their own reality shows. The Cupcakes have cutesy storefront bakeries in bourgeois city neighborhoods. The Cupcakes have their own cookbooks. For the love of Jesus, the Cupcakes even have their own Cupcake ATM. (Full disclosure: I visited it and spent $4 on one cupcake.)
The Cupcakes have seamlessly integrated themselves into every dietary lifestyle. Vegan? No problem, here's a 450-calorie cupcake for you! Gluten-free? The Cupcakes LOVE gluten-free! I haven't got any word firsthand on the situation for diabetics, and logic tells me it probably ain't so great, but if you look at the Cupcakes' track record you realize there's no way in hell they're going to miss out on an entire demographic, so there's probably also a diabetes-friendly cupcake bakery out there.
Can't nobody stop the cupcakes. Not even...
2. Doctor Who
Okay, maybe it's just because I started watching Doctor Who this year so it starting showing up on my own personal trends radar, but I'm not entirely sure that's the case. For one thing, it's the first BBC show to air simultaneously in the US and the UK, which is indicative, I think, of the level of fan-obsession over here. Plus there was that Entertainment Weekly cover story (which I made the mistake of reading before I was all caught up--a simple "spoiler alert" might've been nice, EW). And then Matt Smith and Karen Gillan attended the US seventh season premiere in a Delorean, and everyone was like "TIME TRAVEL GEEKERY!" and I was like, "I'm embarrassed for everyone involved in this right now. Also, wrong time travel fandom."
But long story short, Doctor Who. It came, it saw, it conquered, although possibly not in that order. Wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey and all that.
But even Time Lords can't one-up Maggie Smith and...
3. Downton Abbey
Holy crap, Downton Abbey. I am going to give you a list of people with whom I have discussed Downton Abbey in-depth. See if you can guess which one is untrue:
a.) My roommates
b.) My sorority sisters
c.) Girls rushing my sorority
c.) Members of my a cappella group
d.) My (male) thesis advisor
e.) My mother
GOTCHA! It was a trick question, because I have had in-depth conversations about Downton Abbey with all of these people! I have even had legitimate Downton Abbey viewing parties (featuring tea, scones, and cheese straws) with some of these people! And I swear to you that this is not just me. I read an entire New York Times article about Americans holding Downton events where people have sit-down fancy dinners in period dress. (The juxtaposition of wearing Edwardian clothing while watching television, possibly the same set on which one DVR'd Jersey Shore just days before, apparently has done nothing to deter anyone.)
Bookstores reported spikes in the sales of early twentieth-centuiry historical non-fiction and in period fiction, e.g. Jane Austen. (The fact that Jane Austen died almost one hundred years before Downton's action begins has apparently not deterred anyone, either. "It's old! It's British! There are stuffy society types falling in love! SAME DAMN THING!" says everyone in America.) My public library had a Downton Abbey-themed shelf that practically smacked you in the face on the way in the door. In the interest of full disclosure, I did borrow a book from said shelf: Governess: The Life and Times of the Real Jane Eyres, by Ruth Brandon. Again, it was all about a time period fifty years before the Edwardian era, but still! Brits! Class division! History! Apparently, according to America, there are four stages of British history:
1. Stonehenge-builders (prehistory-middle ages)
2. Monty Python-esque villagers wallowing in mud (middle ages-Renaissance)
3. Uppity snobs who like taxing tea, etc. (eighteenth century - post-WWII)
4. THE BEATLES! Also, still sort of uppity. (1960s-present day)
Speaking of the Beatles, let's draw some comparisons to...
4. One Direction
Or, rather, let's not. I know a lot of people were calling this "the second British invasion." Presumably these people didn't realize that the second British invasion already happened in the eighties. Then again, the majority of One Direction's fanbase probably didn't come of age until the next century--nay, the next millenium--so I suppose you really can't blame them. In fact, kudos to them for knowing enough to try to draw the parallel in the first place. (See, I'm not always mean and bitter!)
I won't lie to you, I own Up All Night and have listened to it in its entirety. I know all the words to "What Makes You Beautiful" and "One Thing." I also know every single boy band harmony in both of these songs. They're catchy, I get it. If you think about it, it's basically five Justin Biebers, but with accents, which is why I try not to think about it.
But seriously. They were at the Olympics. Nothing says "Enjoy your place in the zeitgeist" like performing at the Olympics. Speaking of which...
5. Gabby Douglas and the Olympics
I know, it sounds sort of like she started an all-girl pop group, right? It has a way better ring to it than "Gabby Douglas, her hair, and the Olympics," which is what everyone made it out to be. I mean, really, people. Gabby Douglas just won an Olympic gold medal and became the first African-American all-around individual Olympic champion, and we're gonna talk about her hair? Seriously. Two questions, America:
1. What did your hair look like when you were sixteen? I want prom photos.
2. What did you do in your teens that even comes close to winning the freaking Olympics? That's what I thought.
Gabby Douglas, you rock on into 2013. Gabby Douglas's hairstyle, your moment is long over. It should never have been a moment to begin with.
After all that nonsensical hullabaloo, the Olympic Games themselves were kind of playing second fiddle. Except that everyone enjoyed comparing them unfavorably to the Beijing Olympics. Go easy on the Brits, mmkay, guys? Everyone knows they're uppity and were probably too busy unfairly taxing luxury goods and/or wallowing in mud somewhere to really put in the effort. They built Stonehenge at least. Give them some credit.
No doubt about it, summer belonged to the Olympics. Except, wait, what's this? I think we've found a challenger in...
6. Frozen yogurt
Hey, America! Remember how you all love to bitch about college dining hall food?! Let's take the best part of a college dining hall, slap it into a strip mall, and then charge you even more exorbitantly than a college meal plan would! Sound good?
Seriously, though, I went through the first twenty-two years of my life without it ever occurring to me to go out for frozen yogurt. Ice cream, yes. Frozen yogurt, not so much. And then within a six-month span, no fewer than five frozen yogurt places opened up within a fifteen-minute drive of my house. Let me give you some perspective here by listing things that are not within fifteen minutes of my house:
- A hospital
- A bus station terminal
- An airport
- A taxi stand
- A beach
- An amusement park
- Any government building (that is not a post office)
- A reputable bar/club
- My dentist, my optometrist, and my dermatologist
7. Painting one nail a different color than the rest
Fun fact: this trend apparently started as a way to identify femme lesbians, but then of course mainstream culture got a hold of it and totally divested it of any sort of meaning beyond "I like hot pink nail polish, but I also like acid green nail polish!"
I've seen maybe one or two people wear it well. Everyone else looks like they forgot midway through their manicures which color they were using. And that, my friends, is all I have to say on that score.
8. Every iteration of "Call Me Maybe"
And with that total lack of segue, let's talk about "Call Me Maybe." I think the lack of segue here is appropriate, personally, seeing as "Call Me Maybe" really did just come out of nowhere. It's not as if America was sitting around in the spring of 2012 going, "You know what the world is missing? A really twee song with some violins and a dance beat. Someone should get on that." Carly Rae Jepsen to the rescue!
What separated "Call Me Maybe" from every other ostensibly-much-reviled-yet-universally-known-and-sort-of-guiltily-enjoyed hit single this year, however, was the fact that it became such a youtube cover sensation. Basically if you were in a group with more than four other people and one of you had some sort of recording device, you were making a video of yourself singing along to this song. And that is the sort of thing that earned "Call Me Maybe" a spot on this list. I bet it was thinking it was all special and unique, too, until...
9. "Gangnam Style"
It has an SNL skit (where the punchline is literally just a recording of the song. There is no other overarching joke. "Gangnam Style" is it. Also, 0:55-0:57 pretty much sums up what happened when I introduced this phenomenon to my mother). It is the most-liked video on youtube. It has med-school parodies. It has a BILL NYE THE SCIENCE GUY PARODY. You will never escape this song. It will be like the Macarena--at parties twenty years from now, your drunk, nostalgic friends will be shouting "AAYYYYYYYY, SEXY LAAAADYYYYYY" and doing this and just generally looking like they've been possessed.
Speaking of being possessed...
10. Paranormal"reality" shows
Guys. Guys. Guys. No, shut up! Did you hear that? It was like a bang, or maybe a boom, or like, I don't know, footsteps. Naw, dude, seriously! I totally heard it! Since houses never settle, and wild animals never roam around abandoned buildings, and vagrants never sneak in, and the wind never blows things over, and there aren't like three of us wandering around in an unfamiliar setting in total darkness, it MUST BE A GHOST! It's the only explanation that makes any sense! Quick, call in the Long Island medium or those people from Dead Files, because we're only a demonic pig sighting and a movie deal away from the next Amityville Horror!
Ugh. Let's talk about hedgehogs.
11. Hedgehogs
These adorable little bastards took over the internet. I mean, you still have videos and pictures and gifs of cats and dogs doing cute stuff, but hedgehogs just came out of nowhere and were like, "Hey, world, we're pretty cute, too." I mean, they have their own category on Buzzfeed. Hedgehogs! Who knew! I mean, come on, how does this not make you go "awwwwww"?
Hedgehogs might melt your heart, but you know what will eat your brains?
12. Zombies
So in right now. I think they might be stealing the Murderous Supernatural Beings Pop Culture Juggernaut Award from vampires, which, let's face it, have had their day. Had I been writing this last year (or the year before that, or the year before THAT), it would have been all about Twilight, Vampire Diaries, True Blood, etc., etc. This year everyone is crazy for The Walking Dead. Given that there's a zombie rom-com coming out in February, it looks like our collective zombie obsession is going to continue into 2013. Everyone get your battle axes (or whatever it is you use to kill zombies, I'm not really up on my zombie lore) ready. Or you could just visit the CDC's web page on zombie apocalypse preparedness. Your call.
You know what confuses me as much as zombie imposters confuse real zombies?
13. Mustaches
I don't understand this. At all. It used to be that mustaches, when they acknowledged at all, were derided as creepy-looking or tool-y. Now suddenly mustaches are the "in" thing--not necessarily as legitimate facial hair, but as a design motif. In my shopping adventures, I have seen mustaches emblazoned on notebooks, mugs, and t-shirts. The phrase "I mustache you a question" pops unbidden into my head far more frequently than I would like. I thought this trend was so stupid, but it's become so common and ingrained in popular culture that I've started to be like, "Oh, that's a cute mustache t-shirt" instead of "WHY IS THERE A MUSTACHE T-SHIRT?!" Of course, stuff like this might have helped. I suppose there's only one thing to do in a situation like this...
14. "Keep Calm and Carry On"
Or keep calm and dance on, keep calm and wait for iPhone 5 (ugh, don't even get me started), keep calm and edit copy, keep calm and add butter, keep calm and talk to Mr. Feeny or, one of my personal favorites, keep calm and carry on, my wayward son. If you want to talk about ubiquity (a word I have used more in this blog post than I did in the entirety of 2012, thank you very much), here you go. "Keep Calm and Carry On" and its various variations (some of which are infinitely more clever than others) are everywhere. On the off-chance that you do not believe me, I will prove it by providing you with a "Keep Calm and Verb-Blankety-Blank" for every single item on this list. (This will also prove how spot-on all my other list items were. Grand finale time!)
I did not make up any of these myself (despite the existence of a "Keep Calm and Carry On" automatic phrase generator). These were all culled from the tangled mess that is Google Image Search. You are welcome, friends.
1. Keep Calm and Have a Cupcake. Or bake them, whatever.
2. Keep Calm, I'm the Doctor (I have this on a magnet. Also, there a million hilarious Doctor Who "Keep Calm"s, my favorite being "Keep Calm and Basically, Run.")
3. Keep Calm and Watch Downtown Abbey
4. Keep Calm and Love One Direction. Guys, there is an entire tumblr for this. I can't even. Just...why.
5. Keep Calm, It's Only the Olympics
6. Keep Calm and Eat Frozen Yogurt
7. Keep Calm and Get a Manicure
8. Keep Calm and Call Me Maybe
9. Keep Calm and Gangnam Style (It's a verb now? Has it always been a verb?)
10. Keep Calm and Hunt Ghosts
11. Keep Calm, Be a Hedgehog
12.
13. Keep Calm and Grow a Mustache
14. Keep Calm and Stop Remaking This F---ing Poster Already
Fare thee well, dear 2012. It's been real.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Happy (Vegetarian) Thanksgiving
Disclaimer: I have fortunately never experienced anything like the following at my family Thanksgivings, which are always fun and delicious and completely free of any diet-related nagging. This post is based solely on conversations I've had with random people who seem to have a really personal stake in what I eat for lunch on the fourth Thursday of November. That said: okay, carry on.
Hello, friends!
In this topsy-turvy modern world, Thanksgiving isn't just what it used to be. It used to be a day for football, eating some good old home-cookin', and relaxing--unless you were a woman or an Indian, of course; then it was a day for doubling your normal workload around the house and being casually intimidated by your supposed allies. Those sure were the days!
The point is that some people are just intent on overturning Thanksgiving, of robbing it of all that is good and pure and holy and tastes like turkey. We have a word for these people. They're called vegetarians.
In the interest of political correctness, we cannot simply throw these people out into the snow on this, the most gluttonous holiday of all! So I've drafted a handy guide for getting through Thanksgiving when you're faced with--horror of all horrors!--a vegetarian.
1. Have a defensive speech prepared.
It doesn't matter if the vegetarian in your family has made no comment on the fact that you're all about to sit down and eat turkey. She's probably thinking judgmental thoughts anyway, and Thanksgiving is no time for judgmental thoughts. What if the Pilgrims had been judgmental about the Indians? Then the next 400 years of American history would have been fraught with tension and racism! Imagine the consequences!
To combat the holier-than-thou thoughts your vegetarian is most likely entertaining, you should have a lecture prepared. (The longer, more convoluted, and less informed, the better!) Some talking points include:
It's THANKSGIVING, for crying out loud. If not everyone eats the turkey, the world might implode, because the entire holiday was built on turkey and turkey alone. It was in no way the result of a turkey lobby or something. (You might also gloss over the fact that the Pilgrims did not eat turkey and instead partook of such delicacies as deer and eels.)
At any rate, for the good of humanity and for the sake of delicious food everywhere, you might need to get a little bit sneaky with your vegetarian's meal. Tell 'em it's Tofurkey--it just tastes so real, they won't even be able to tell the difference! (Vegetarians love talking about how "real" their fake meat products taste, so they will probably eat this one up--no pun intended.)
Also, mashed potatoes probably became a Thanksgiving staple for the sole purpose of tricking vegetarians into eating meat. Mix up a little gravy in there! Hide some white meat in there like it's a baby Jesus doll on Mardi Gras and the potatoes are your King's Cake!
3. Have a back-up plan.
Maybe you're really bad at stealth. Maybe your vegetarian was just too quick for you. (They're wily bastards, let me tell you.) Whatever the reason, your vegetarian definitely, DEFINITELY will not be eating any turkey at this family gathering. What's a host to do?
Obviously, it would be rude to let your guest go hungry, even if she is determined to UTTERLY RUIN everyone else's holiday by politely refusing to partake in the MOST DELICIOUS PART. So you should probably have some vegetarian-friendly food on hand, just in case. I like to supply my vegetarian guests with things like limp lettuce and maybe a paper napkin (for a filling fiber-rich dish!). Just make sure it tastes awful and can be found in a hamster cage, and I promise you they will gobble it up!
And a good thing, too, given how rare it is to find vegetarian-friendly dishes like potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots, peas, cornbread, parsnips, dinner rolls, squash, cranberry sauce, corn, asparagus, green bean casserole, pumpkin pie, apple crisp, or even salad on the average American's Thanksgiving table. What do they think this is, Canadian Thanksgiving?
4. Make sure you get your two cents in.
Vegetarians--so chatty. "No thank you, I don't eat turkey." BLECH. Make sure your voice is heard, too! Pre-meal grace is a prime opportunity for having your say. A sample script:
YOU: This year, I am grateful for this bountiful dinner, ESPECIALLY (look pointedly at vegetarian) this DELICIOUS TURKEY.
They'll get the message. Oh, they'll get it, all right.
5. Just shut up and eat.
Last resort, obviously, but in the event that all of these efforts fail and your vegetarian is still vegetarian by the end of the meal, just sit back, shut up, and enjoy a fantastic dinner with your loved ones. I mean, aside from the turkey (OBVIOUSLY) isn't that what Thanksgiving is all about?
Good luck, friend, and Happy Thanksgiving!
Hello, friends!
In this topsy-turvy modern world, Thanksgiving isn't just what it used to be. It used to be a day for football, eating some good old home-cookin', and relaxing--unless you were a woman or an Indian, of course; then it was a day for doubling your normal workload around the house and being casually intimidated by your supposed allies. Those sure were the days!
The point is that some people are just intent on overturning Thanksgiving, of robbing it of all that is good and pure and holy and tastes like turkey. We have a word for these people. They're called vegetarians.
In the interest of political correctness, we cannot simply throw these people out into the snow on this, the most gluttonous holiday of all! So I've drafted a handy guide for getting through Thanksgiving when you're faced with--horror of all horrors!--a vegetarian.
1. Have a defensive speech prepared.
It doesn't matter if the vegetarian in your family has made no comment on the fact that you're all about to sit down and eat turkey. She's probably thinking judgmental thoughts anyway, and Thanksgiving is no time for judgmental thoughts. What if the Pilgrims had been judgmental about the Indians? Then the next 400 years of American history would have been fraught with tension and racism! Imagine the consequences!
To combat the holier-than-thou thoughts your vegetarian is most likely entertaining, you should have a lecture prepared. (The longer, more convoluted, and less informed, the better!) Some talking points include:
- Eating turkey is tradition, and tradition is important!
- Turkeys are delicious! And they're stupid! It's totally okay to eat stupid things, I'm pretty sure it says that in the Bible somewhere.
- What if vegetables have feelings, too, HMMMM?
- Just eat the dark meat, it barely counts.
- The turkey's already dead and cooked and you are being selfish. What about all the kids who are poor and don't get any turkey today? Think of the children, you godless heathen!
It's THANKSGIVING, for crying out loud. If not everyone eats the turkey, the world might implode, because the entire holiday was built on turkey and turkey alone. It was in no way the result of a turkey lobby or something. (You might also gloss over the fact that the Pilgrims did not eat turkey and instead partook of such delicacies as deer and eels.)
At any rate, for the good of humanity and for the sake of delicious food everywhere, you might need to get a little bit sneaky with your vegetarian's meal. Tell 'em it's Tofurkey--it just tastes so real, they won't even be able to tell the difference! (Vegetarians love talking about how "real" their fake meat products taste, so they will probably eat this one up--no pun intended.)
Also, mashed potatoes probably became a Thanksgiving staple for the sole purpose of tricking vegetarians into eating meat. Mix up a little gravy in there! Hide some white meat in there like it's a baby Jesus doll on Mardi Gras and the potatoes are your King's Cake!
3. Have a back-up plan.
Maybe you're really bad at stealth. Maybe your vegetarian was just too quick for you. (They're wily bastards, let me tell you.) Whatever the reason, your vegetarian definitely, DEFINITELY will not be eating any turkey at this family gathering. What's a host to do?
Obviously, it would be rude to let your guest go hungry, even if she is determined to UTTERLY RUIN everyone else's holiday by politely refusing to partake in the MOST DELICIOUS PART. So you should probably have some vegetarian-friendly food on hand, just in case. I like to supply my vegetarian guests with things like limp lettuce and maybe a paper napkin (for a filling fiber-rich dish!). Just make sure it tastes awful and can be found in a hamster cage, and I promise you they will gobble it up!
And a good thing, too, given how rare it is to find vegetarian-friendly dishes like potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots, peas, cornbread, parsnips, dinner rolls, squash, cranberry sauce, corn, asparagus, green bean casserole, pumpkin pie, apple crisp, or even salad on the average American's Thanksgiving table. What do they think this is, Canadian Thanksgiving?
4. Make sure you get your two cents in.
Vegetarians--so chatty. "No thank you, I don't eat turkey." BLECH. Make sure your voice is heard, too! Pre-meal grace is a prime opportunity for having your say. A sample script:
YOU: This year, I am grateful for this bountiful dinner, ESPECIALLY (look pointedly at vegetarian) this DELICIOUS TURKEY.
They'll get the message. Oh, they'll get it, all right.
5. Just shut up and eat.
Last resort, obviously, but in the event that all of these efforts fail and your vegetarian is still vegetarian by the end of the meal, just sit back, shut up, and enjoy a fantastic dinner with your loved ones. I mean, aside from the turkey (OBVIOUSLY) isn't that what Thanksgiving is all about?
Good luck, friend, and Happy Thanksgiving!
Friday, October 19, 2012
More Brief Sketches of Life at the MB
More haikus about my thrilling life as a supermarket cashier. (Read part one here.)
I. Ode to Customers Who are Way Too Honest
When asked, "How are you?"
Just lie and say, "Doing fine"
Like everyone else.
II. Ode to Customers Who Get Worked Up Over Nothing
The world will not end
If your chips aren't double-bagged.
Just some perspective.
III. Ode to that Stupid "Must Be Free!" Joke
Har-har-dee-har-har
Never heard that one before!
Sir, you are the first.
IV. Ode to Customers Who Miss the Point
I don't think food stamps
Are really meant to cover
Eighteen packs of gum.
V. Ode to the Store Music
Soft rock's killing me.
Never thought I'd say this, but:
Can't wait for Christmas.
VI. Ode to People Who Complain About the Temperature
Why yes, it is cold.
Been standing here for hours,
So I noticed, too.
I. Ode to Customers Who are Way Too Honest
When asked, "How are you?"
Just lie and say, "Doing fine"
Like everyone else.
II. Ode to Customers Who Get Worked Up Over Nothing
The world will not end
If your chips aren't double-bagged.
Just some perspective.
III. Ode to that Stupid "Must Be Free!" Joke
Har-har-dee-har-har
Never heard that one before!
Sir, you are the first.
IV. Ode to Customers Who Miss the Point
I don't think food stamps
Are really meant to cover
Eighteen packs of gum.
V. Ode to the Store Music
Soft rock's killing me.
Never thought I'd say this, but:
Can't wait for Christmas.
VI. Ode to People Who Complain About the Temperature
Why yes, it is cold.
Been standing here for hours,
So I noticed, too.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
A Salute to Latvia
Dearest blog readers,
I sincerely hope you are enjoying my blog. I know full well that most of what I put on here is me talking to myself in the hopes that someone will someday stumble upon this collection of my random ramblings, shout out loud, "By Jove, this woman is the bee's knees!" and then either offer me a book deal or turn my life into a sitcom destined to last less than one season. It's a long shot, I know, but if 50 Shades of Gray can leap from the depths of the internet to become a real thing, so can my life, even though it's decidedly less controversial and creepy.
A key part of my long-term blog/life success plan is Giving the People What They Want. I know how business works. You've got to pander to your demographic, and I'm not above selling out. And since half of my blog traffic last week came from Latvia, well...dodiet cilvēkiem, ko viņi vēlas, am I right?
So from now on until at least the end of this entry, the blog has a theme, and that theme is the glorious Republic of Latvia. Dievs, svētī Latviju!
The main problem here is that I don't really know very much about Latvia. So I did a little digging, and here are my favorite Latvian search results. Based on what I found, I think we can all agree that Latvia holds the coolness trump card for planet Earth. See for yourself:
Latvian Folk Calendar (for sale on eBay)
Obviously, I can't read Latvian, despite what my excellent (?) Google translating skills (see above, re: "dodiet cilvēkiem, ko viņi vēlas") might suggest. So I need to use context clues for this one. Based on the picture, it appears that this calendar features a Latvian folk tale about Rabbit, a school crossing guard who sneaks his friends Mouse and Royal-Yet-Nondescript Bug onto the school's track, where they hold clandestine dance parties and consistently outwit their arch-nemesis, the Dark Ethereal Shape ominously approaching from the right.
I think I might want this to become a TV pilot even more than my own life. I would watch the hell out of this show.
Coco the Clown (read more here)
Does this guy haunt your dreams? (He does now! Mwa ha ha.)
Well, you can thank Latvia. Or, more accurately, you can thank Latvia's Nicolai Poliakoff, creator of Coco the Clown. Even in the blissful years before reality TV, people liked to laugh at the misfortunes of others, and as a result old Nicolai took a whole bunch of custard pies right in the kisser.
Fun fact: his son (whom Wikipedia calls "a longtime circus 'Producing Clown,'" whatever that means) apparently "designed the post-1960s Ronald McDonald." Two dream-haunting clowns for the price of one! Thanks, Latvia!
Badass Fairytale Architecture (from Flickr)
This sort of looks like if M.C. Escher decided to design homes for woodland creatures in fairy tales. I need to move here. I need to live here. I need to have quirky adventures with singing animals here.
WAIT, hold up, it's a sauna?! I need to take a steam with Bambi or something! This is almost too awesome to exist. Latvia, prepare yourself. I'm coming over there.
I sincerely hope you are enjoying my blog. I know full well that most of what I put on here is me talking to myself in the hopes that someone will someday stumble upon this collection of my random ramblings, shout out loud, "By Jove, this woman is the bee's knees!" and then either offer me a book deal or turn my life into a sitcom destined to last less than one season. It's a long shot, I know, but if 50 Shades of Gray can leap from the depths of the internet to become a real thing, so can my life, even though it's decidedly less controversial and creepy.
A key part of my long-term blog/life success plan is Giving the People What They Want. I know how business works. You've got to pander to your demographic, and I'm not above selling out. And since half of my blog traffic last week came from Latvia, well...dodiet cilvēkiem, ko viņi vēlas, am I right?
So from now on until at least the end of this entry, the blog has a theme, and that theme is the glorious Republic of Latvia. Dievs, svētī Latviju!
The main problem here is that I don't really know very much about Latvia. So I did a little digging, and here are my favorite Latvian search results. Based on what I found, I think we can all agree that Latvia holds the coolness trump card for planet Earth. See for yourself:
Latvian Folk Calendar (for sale on eBay)
Obviously, I can't read Latvian, despite what my excellent (?) Google translating skills (see above, re: "dodiet cilvēkiem, ko viņi vēlas") might suggest. So I need to use context clues for this one. Based on the picture, it appears that this calendar features a Latvian folk tale about Rabbit, a school crossing guard who sneaks his friends Mouse and Royal-Yet-Nondescript Bug onto the school's track, where they hold clandestine dance parties and consistently outwit their arch-nemesis, the Dark Ethereal Shape ominously approaching from the right.
I think I might want this to become a TV pilot even more than my own life. I would watch the hell out of this show.
Coco the Clown (read more here)
Does this guy haunt your dreams? (He does now! Mwa ha ha.)
Well, you can thank Latvia. Or, more accurately, you can thank Latvia's Nicolai Poliakoff, creator of Coco the Clown. Even in the blissful years before reality TV, people liked to laugh at the misfortunes of others, and as a result old Nicolai took a whole bunch of custard pies right in the kisser.
Fun fact: his son (whom Wikipedia calls "a longtime circus 'Producing Clown,'" whatever that means) apparently "designed the post-1960s Ronald McDonald." Two dream-haunting clowns for the price of one! Thanks, Latvia!
Badass Fairytale Architecture (from Flickr)
This sort of looks like if M.C. Escher decided to design homes for woodland creatures in fairy tales. I need to move here. I need to live here. I need to have quirky adventures with singing animals here.
WAIT, hold up, it's a sauna?! I need to take a steam with Bambi or something! This is almost too awesome to exist. Latvia, prepare yourself. I'm coming over there.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Quotes Directly from the MB
MAN (appropos to nothing): I hope my knucklehead son remembers to stir the soup.
LITTLE GIRL: Daddy, can I get this candy?
GOOD FATHER: No, you already had candy today.
LITTLE GIRL: See, this is why I want a nice dad.
GOOD FATHER: You can't have candy every day!
LITTLE GIRL: You're so mean every day.
(These two should get their own sitcom. I'd watch it.)
CUTE LITTLE GIRL: What's your name?
ME: My name's Renée. What's your name?
(Long pause, then:)
CUTE LITTLE GIRL: JJJJJJJAAAASSSSSSSSSMMIIIIINNNNEEEEEE!
MOTHER: That's not your name! Tell her your real name!
GRANDMOTHER, to child trying to sneak out candy: NO! If you don't put that back right now, the policeman will come and take it away!
WOMAN (in a different line, completely out of the blue): Why does your name tag say "four years"?
ME: ...I'm sorry?
WOMAN: Your name tag. Why does it say "four years"?
ME: Because I've been working here for four years.
(embarrassed pause)
WOMAN: Oh.
You can't make this stuff up.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Curses!
Prepare yourself for the worst: I have...a black spot.
Its origins are less than mysterious: I was shelving a can of Chef Boyardee extra large meat ravioli* when I pinched the skin of my finger between said can and the shelf on which I was trying to put it. I think most people would agree that this is simply a minor blood blister sort of situation, and that any attempt of mine to put my affairs in order and start looking at coffin models is a bit of an overreaction.
*I just don't understand the concept of extra-large meat ravioli in a can. The can is the same size. You are eating the exact same amount of food. "But I'm extra hungry!" you might say. Well, my suggestion to you would be to eat a meal that you cannot buy for a dollar-fifty and does not fit in the palm of your hand.
However, I am nothing if not a pop culture junkie, and pop culture has taught me that black spots--any black spots--have dreadful consequences, particularly if one is on board a pirate vessel of some kind.
So while part of me continues to live life like a normal human being, a small, irrational part of me keeps waiting for Bill Nighy-as-an-octopus-person to come up behind me and blare "Yeh owe meh yer soooooul!" right before my spot jumps ship to go seek its fortune and marry another black spot. My one comfort is that Rory and Pirate!Hugh Bonneville managed to make it work for them on Doctor Who, and, as everyone knows, a television show about a time-traveling alien is always a proper yardstick by which to measure your own life. (Side note: your life is, and will always be, inadequate compared to Doctor Who. True story.)
Further side note: Did you know that, of all the black spots in film and television, the only one I could find a video of was the 2011 Doctor Who episode "Curse of the Black Spot?" Do you believe me now? Give it enough time, and the Black Spot (maybe it merits capitalization?) will destroy everything it touches, including media depictions of itself!
Whoa, it just got all meta up in here, didn't it?
I blame the spot.
Its origins are less than mysterious: I was shelving a can of Chef Boyardee extra large meat ravioli* when I pinched the skin of my finger between said can and the shelf on which I was trying to put it. I think most people would agree that this is simply a minor blood blister sort of situation, and that any attempt of mine to put my affairs in order and start looking at coffin models is a bit of an overreaction.
*I just don't understand the concept of extra-large meat ravioli in a can. The can is the same size. You are eating the exact same amount of food. "But I'm extra hungry!" you might say. Well, my suggestion to you would be to eat a meal that you cannot buy for a dollar-fifty and does not fit in the palm of your hand.
However, I am nothing if not a pop culture junkie, and pop culture has taught me that black spots--any black spots--have dreadful consequences, particularly if one is on board a pirate vessel of some kind.
So while part of me continues to live life like a normal human being, a small, irrational part of me keeps waiting for Bill Nighy-as-an-octopus-person to come up behind me and blare "Yeh owe meh yer soooooul!" right before my spot jumps ship to go seek its fortune and marry another black spot. My one comfort is that Rory and Pirate!Hugh Bonneville managed to make it work for them on Doctor Who, and, as everyone knows, a television show about a time-traveling alien is always a proper yardstick by which to measure your own life. (Side note: your life is, and will always be, inadequate compared to Doctor Who. True story.)
Further side note: Did you know that, of all the black spots in film and television, the only one I could find a video of was the 2011 Doctor Who episode "Curse of the Black Spot?" Do you believe me now? Give it enough time, and the Black Spot (maybe it merits capitalization?) will destroy everything it touches, including media depictions of itself!
Whoa, it just got all meta up in here, didn't it?
I blame the spot.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Don't call me 'sweetie'
If you've read the rest of this blog at all, you'll know that I work with the public. It is truly delightful, believe me.
But over the past four years I've become more and more annoyed with one particular aspect of my interactions with customers. I'm sick and tired of being called "sweetie," "honey," "baby," "hon," "dear," and/or "darling." And I think I'm approaching a breaking point here. Every time one of the offending pet names is directed at me, a boiling hot feeling of frustration and helplessness starts in my heart and spreads through my entire chest until I'm clenching my hands and trying so hard to keep my mouth shut and smile politely. Because that's my job: to take whatever a customer throws at me--within the realm of reason, of course.
And let me tell you, I put up with a lot of crap from a lot of jerks. But part of what irks me about the pet names issue is that it's not exclusively jerks who use them. In fact, most of the customers who call me by a pet name are otherwise pleasant, friendly, and appear to be all-around good people. So maybe people just don't realize what's wrong with pet names. Maybe you don't either. Maybe you think I'm overreacting. I can see that--but I'm not. Let me explain.
Pet names are for people you are close to. They are for children. They are for beloved pets. They are not for the adult woman who handles your money. You don't know me. I am not your 'sweetie,' your 'honey,' or anything else except your cashier. If you absolutely must address me directly, I have a big honking name tag. Use it.
My problem with pet names is that they are infantilizing, and I'm not okay with being infantilized. I am a twenty-two year old college graduates who works, who travels, who makes her own decisions. Please don't put me on the same level as your yappy little dog or your not-yet potty-trained toddler.
Furthermore, pet names are familiar. Like, too familiar. Would you be freaked out if I addressed you by your first name after seeing your credit card? Probably. When you interact with someone in a professional setting, you expect to be addressed accordingly: "sir," "miss," "ma'am," etc. You and me, this thing we're doing here? The one where you buy things and I make change? It's a business transaction. I didn't just make you a macaroni necklace, so stop acting like I'm just standing here to be adorable.
This whole pet names thing often comes up in the context of feminism, and it's not terribly difficult to see why. Look at the pet names that are considered "masculine": "son," "man," "sport," and, if you're surfing off the coast of California, "dude." When they don't immediately point to a truism about the guy's status ("son"/"man"), they're connecting him to an admirable trait (like being a good sport) or bestowing on him some modicum of coolness ("duuuuuuude").
Girls get stuck, more often than not, with the words that paint us as doe-eyed fragile beings wandering around a forest glade somewhere: "sweetie," "honey," "baby." Ugh.
But I hear guys get called "hon" and "sweetie" at work almost as often as I hear girls called the same thing. And it makes me annoyed for them, too. Because they are working just as hard as I am, and they are just as worthy of respect.
Let me put it to you this way: would you address the brain surgeon operating on a loved on as "dear"? If you ever met him (or her), would you call the president of the United States "baby"? If you were having dinner with your significant other's parents for the first time, would you christen them "sweetie" and "darling"? Of course not.
I know I'm not a brain surgeon or a president or anything, but I'm still a human being worthy of decent treatment. And guess what? I don't want to be known as "baby"; I want to be respected as an adult. I don't want you to call me "honey"; I want you to call me "miss," because that is my title. I don't want to be called "sweetie," because I'm not interested in being sweet. I'm interested in being a person of substance, a person whose ideas and opinions and personality are acknowledged and respected. I don't care if you think I'm a "sweetie" or a "honey"--if you don't know me personally, that's not for you to decide. All that matters is how I--a thinking, money-making, tax-paying adult--choose to define myself.
And I am not your "sweetie."
But over the past four years I've become more and more annoyed with one particular aspect of my interactions with customers. I'm sick and tired of being called "sweetie," "honey," "baby," "hon," "dear," and/or "darling." And I think I'm approaching a breaking point here. Every time one of the offending pet names is directed at me, a boiling hot feeling of frustration and helplessness starts in my heart and spreads through my entire chest until I'm clenching my hands and trying so hard to keep my mouth shut and smile politely. Because that's my job: to take whatever a customer throws at me--within the realm of reason, of course.
And let me tell you, I put up with a lot of crap from a lot of jerks. But part of what irks me about the pet names issue is that it's not exclusively jerks who use them. In fact, most of the customers who call me by a pet name are otherwise pleasant, friendly, and appear to be all-around good people. So maybe people just don't realize what's wrong with pet names. Maybe you don't either. Maybe you think I'm overreacting. I can see that--but I'm not. Let me explain.
Pet names are for people you are close to. They are for children. They are for beloved pets. They are not for the adult woman who handles your money. You don't know me. I am not your 'sweetie,' your 'honey,' or anything else except your cashier. If you absolutely must address me directly, I have a big honking name tag. Use it.
My problem with pet names is that they are infantilizing, and I'm not okay with being infantilized. I am a twenty-two year old college graduates who works, who travels, who makes her own decisions. Please don't put me on the same level as your yappy little dog or your not-yet potty-trained toddler.
Furthermore, pet names are familiar. Like, too familiar. Would you be freaked out if I addressed you by your first name after seeing your credit card? Probably. When you interact with someone in a professional setting, you expect to be addressed accordingly: "sir," "miss," "ma'am," etc. You and me, this thing we're doing here? The one where you buy things and I make change? It's a business transaction. I didn't just make you a macaroni necklace, so stop acting like I'm just standing here to be adorable.
This whole pet names thing often comes up in the context of feminism, and it's not terribly difficult to see why. Look at the pet names that are considered "masculine": "son," "man," "sport," and, if you're surfing off the coast of California, "dude." When they don't immediately point to a truism about the guy's status ("son"/"man"), they're connecting him to an admirable trait (like being a good sport) or bestowing on him some modicum of coolness ("duuuuuuude").
Girls get stuck, more often than not, with the words that paint us as doe-eyed fragile beings wandering around a forest glade somewhere: "sweetie," "honey," "baby." Ugh.
But I hear guys get called "hon" and "sweetie" at work almost as often as I hear girls called the same thing. And it makes me annoyed for them, too. Because they are working just as hard as I am, and they are just as worthy of respect.
Let me put it to you this way: would you address the brain surgeon operating on a loved on as "dear"? If you ever met him (or her), would you call the president of the United States "baby"? If you were having dinner with your significant other's parents for the first time, would you christen them "sweetie" and "darling"? Of course not.
I know I'm not a brain surgeon or a president or anything, but I'm still a human being worthy of decent treatment. And guess what? I don't want to be known as "baby"; I want to be respected as an adult. I don't want you to call me "honey"; I want you to call me "miss," because that is my title. I don't want to be called "sweetie," because I'm not interested in being sweet. I'm interested in being a person of substance, a person whose ideas and opinions and personality are acknowledged and respected. I don't care if you think I'm a "sweetie" or a "honey"--if you don't know me personally, that's not for you to decide. All that matters is how I--a thinking, money-making, tax-paying adult--choose to define myself.
And I am not your "sweetie."
Thursday, August 30, 2012
Woman vs. Macarons
I don't know if you know this about me, but I make a bomb-ass macaron.
Sorry for the slight profanity, but there's really no other way to describe how awesome they are. I tried a whole bunch of other adjectives before "bomb-ass," and none of them really captured the true bomb-assery of those little almond meringue cookies. Thus: I make a bomb-ass macaron.
Or maybe I should say that I made a bomb-ass macaron, because given today's events, I may have to find something else on which to stake my reputation, like crocheting a bomb-ass scarf (maybe someday, after I learn to crochet) or doing a bomb-ass job of parallel parking (maybe never, after hell freezes over).
But let's back up a minute. I started my macaron-making victory streak in July, when I decided to attempt them for the Bastille Day dinner I was throwing. (Yes, I celebrate Bastille Day. Yes, I actually make an entire French-themed dinner for various friends and family members. To say I miss Lyon is a bit of an understatement.) Anyway, I went into this endeavor with a healthy dose of realistic skepticism regarding my abilities in this arena, since macarons are notoriously difficult to make. Even my certified pastry chef sister's reaction was something along the lines of, "Oh, you're making macarons? Well...um, good luck!"
But make macarons I did. I made them while watching the first hour of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part One, no less. And then I ate about 25% of them while watching the second hour of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part One, which made for a rather stomachache-y experience once I was into the third hour of the entire ordeal. But the point is, those macarons were good. For a first run, they were even great. Crisp and delicate on the outside, sweet and chewy on the inside. The buttercream frosting was a perfect complement to the cookie. They were a huge hit at dinner and there were none left by the end of the night. All in all, my first foray into macaron-making had been a great success.
I decided to make them again for my grad party at the end of the month, this time adding a pistachio-flavored version to my repertoire. (I was going for a Dartmouth green-and-white color scheme.) Granted, I did not budget my time wisely and ended up having to let the uncooked circles of batter sit for six hours instead of 30 minutes while I went to Market Basket and endured what I'm sure was a thrilling night of overstock, but even this decidedly half-assed attempt at cookie making came off better than it had any right to. The pistachio macarons were a little too chewy and the tops weren't crunchy enough, but it was a relatively minor issue and I still had the almond macarons--aka the ringers--to make up for it. Once again, they were a big hit.
So I guess I got cocky. I started thinking I was some kind of pastry prodigy. Professional chefs bemoan what a pain in the butt macarons are but there I was, knocking off batch after successful batch like they were break-and-bakes. I could do no wrong!
Working directly off that premise, I bought a macaron cookbook I found in the bargain bin at Barnes and Noble and immediately flipped past the basic recipes to the "Fancy Flavors" section, where I promptly settled on chocolate-mint macarons. This wasn't solely the product of cockiness; it also happened to be the only recipe I had all the ingredients for (except for plain almond and pistachio, but hey, been there, done that). So off I went.
The procedure for making macarons is pretty tedious and complicated and involves a lot of sifting, whipping, folding, dough-punching (actually), rapping of cookie sheets on countertops, and so on, so I won't bore you with the details. I'll jump straight ahead to when I pulled my peppermint cookies out of the oven only to find that a.) the top rack was burnt and b.) the bottom rack had transformed from cute little green-colored cookies into a series of amorphous blobs, giving the impression that my entire baking project had begun to hulk out and had been killed in the process.
I threw away the entire top rack without even bothering to take them off the parchment paper, which broke my heart because, unlike the bottom rack, they were perfectly round and lovely. They were also a deep brown, though--pretty hard to argue with that. I cursed the cookbook in the most colorful language I could dredge up and accused it of everything from getting the ingredient proportions wrong to setting the oven temp too high.
In a flash of brilliance, I decided to go back to the macaron recipe that had given me such success from the get-go. All I had to do was sub in peppermint oil for vanilla extract! Way to go, me! Problem solver extraordinaire!
Except the second batch was almost as disappointing as the first. When I piped it onto the cookie sheet, it was runny and it expanded like it was some sort of evil goo bent on world domination. I piped the second half of the batter directly into the garbage can and immediately proceeded to throw a giant temper tantrum in which I enumerated not only everything that had gone wrong with my cookies, but everything that had gone wrong in my entire day. The one bright spot in the madness, my mother and I agreed, was that my hair still looked really nice, which is an unfortunately uncommon occurrence in my life. So there was that.
I would love to make this longwinded story a fable about persistence and tell you that I made a third batch and that it came out perfectly, but that would a lie, because all I did after my second failed attempt at cookie making was eat the sub-par cookies I could salvage from the whole mess. Then I threw the shattered remnants outside "for any animals that enjoy gourmet cookies" and wrote a blog entry bitching about it.
I suppose the next time I make macarons I will be sticking to the tried-and-true recipe that has brought me such success in the past. And until then, I suppose I can console myself with the fact that I still make bomb-ass homemade ravioli...at least, until the universe tries to take that away from me, too.
But be warned, universe: I ain't going down without a fight. And you really don't want a crazy (albeit perfectly coiffed), underemployed college graduate coming after you. I've got a lot of post-adolescent angst and I'm looking for an outlet.
So are you feelin' lucky?
Are ya?
Sorry for the slight profanity, but there's really no other way to describe how awesome they are. I tried a whole bunch of other adjectives before "bomb-ass," and none of them really captured the true bomb-assery of those little almond meringue cookies. Thus: I make a bomb-ass macaron.
Or maybe I should say that I made a bomb-ass macaron, because given today's events, I may have to find something else on which to stake my reputation, like crocheting a bomb-ass scarf (maybe someday, after I learn to crochet) or doing a bomb-ass job of parallel parking (maybe never, after hell freezes over).
But let's back up a minute. I started my macaron-making victory streak in July, when I decided to attempt them for the Bastille Day dinner I was throwing. (Yes, I celebrate Bastille Day. Yes, I actually make an entire French-themed dinner for various friends and family members. To say I miss Lyon is a bit of an understatement.) Anyway, I went into this endeavor with a healthy dose of realistic skepticism regarding my abilities in this arena, since macarons are notoriously difficult to make. Even my certified pastry chef sister's reaction was something along the lines of, "Oh, you're making macarons? Well...um, good luck!"
But make macarons I did. I made them while watching the first hour of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part One, no less. And then I ate about 25% of them while watching the second hour of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part One, which made for a rather stomachache-y experience once I was into the third hour of the entire ordeal. But the point is, those macarons were good. For a first run, they were even great. Crisp and delicate on the outside, sweet and chewy on the inside. The buttercream frosting was a perfect complement to the cookie. They were a huge hit at dinner and there were none left by the end of the night. All in all, my first foray into macaron-making had been a great success.
I decided to make them again for my grad party at the end of the month, this time adding a pistachio-flavored version to my repertoire. (I was going for a Dartmouth green-and-white color scheme.) Granted, I did not budget my time wisely and ended up having to let the uncooked circles of batter sit for six hours instead of 30 minutes while I went to Market Basket and endured what I'm sure was a thrilling night of overstock, but even this decidedly half-assed attempt at cookie making came off better than it had any right to. The pistachio macarons were a little too chewy and the tops weren't crunchy enough, but it was a relatively minor issue and I still had the almond macarons--aka the ringers--to make up for it. Once again, they were a big hit.
So I guess I got cocky. I started thinking I was some kind of pastry prodigy. Professional chefs bemoan what a pain in the butt macarons are but there I was, knocking off batch after successful batch like they were break-and-bakes. I could do no wrong!
Working directly off that premise, I bought a macaron cookbook I found in the bargain bin at Barnes and Noble and immediately flipped past the basic recipes to the "Fancy Flavors" section, where I promptly settled on chocolate-mint macarons. This wasn't solely the product of cockiness; it also happened to be the only recipe I had all the ingredients for (except for plain almond and pistachio, but hey, been there, done that). So off I went.
The procedure for making macarons is pretty tedious and complicated and involves a lot of sifting, whipping, folding, dough-punching (actually), rapping of cookie sheets on countertops, and so on, so I won't bore you with the details. I'll jump straight ahead to when I pulled my peppermint cookies out of the oven only to find that a.) the top rack was burnt and b.) the bottom rack had transformed from cute little green-colored cookies into a series of amorphous blobs, giving the impression that my entire baking project had begun to hulk out and had been killed in the process.
I threw away the entire top rack without even bothering to take them off the parchment paper, which broke my heart because, unlike the bottom rack, they were perfectly round and lovely. They were also a deep brown, though--pretty hard to argue with that. I cursed the cookbook in the most colorful language I could dredge up and accused it of everything from getting the ingredient proportions wrong to setting the oven temp too high.
In a flash of brilliance, I decided to go back to the macaron recipe that had given me such success from the get-go. All I had to do was sub in peppermint oil for vanilla extract! Way to go, me! Problem solver extraordinaire!
Except the second batch was almost as disappointing as the first. When I piped it onto the cookie sheet, it was runny and it expanded like it was some sort of evil goo bent on world domination. I piped the second half of the batter directly into the garbage can and immediately proceeded to throw a giant temper tantrum in which I enumerated not only everything that had gone wrong with my cookies, but everything that had gone wrong in my entire day. The one bright spot in the madness, my mother and I agreed, was that my hair still looked really nice, which is an unfortunately uncommon occurrence in my life. So there was that.
I would love to make this longwinded story a fable about persistence and tell you that I made a third batch and that it came out perfectly, but that would a lie, because all I did after my second failed attempt at cookie making was eat the sub-par cookies I could salvage from the whole mess. Then I threw the shattered remnants outside "for any animals that enjoy gourmet cookies" and wrote a blog entry bitching about it.
I suppose the next time I make macarons I will be sticking to the tried-and-true recipe that has brought me such success in the past. And until then, I suppose I can console myself with the fact that I still make bomb-ass homemade ravioli...at least, until the universe tries to take that away from me, too.
But be warned, universe: I ain't going down without a fight. And you really don't want a crazy (albeit perfectly coiffed), underemployed college graduate coming after you. I've got a lot of post-adolescent angst and I'm looking for an outlet.
So are you feelin' lucky?
Are ya?
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