I was driving to work today and as I was making my way towards York Road I noticed this woman on a bicycle. Nothing out of the ordinary, right? Except that this woman was actually riding IN my lane. As I was driving I was practically holding my breath and steadying the wheel just to make sure I didn't hit her. I figured she would turn onto one of the smaller roads, but nope, there she was, sticking out just enough so I actually had to veer the car out of the lane and figure out if I had enough room (and time) to pass her.
When I realized she had no intention of getting on the sidewalk, let alone off York Road, I had no choice but to slow down to about half the speed limit. We came up to join York and she pedaled as fast as her little legs could go, but the road being wider (and busier, especially during rush hour) I was able to get into another lane and pass her completely. In my rear view I noticed other cars doing the same fancy car work of just trying to not smack into her...others I noticed simply didn't seem to care and kept their cars where they were, letting fate, and her two wheels, decide the outcome.
Actually, I have noticed more and more bikers on the road these days. Maybe it's because of the increase in gas prices, maybe it's the craze of going green, or maybe it's just the cheapest alternative for transportation; whatever it is, people are all hopping a ride on the bandwagon. Even Joe's friend Jeff has forgone a car and has managed to get by on two wheels. And honestly, there's nothing that bad about it. It IS a good way to save money, stay in shape, and go easy on the planet. The only trouble I have with it is when it seems these bikers are gonna ram their views (via their bicycles) right into my bumper.
It reminds me of the old "pedestrian has the right of way" concept. Theoretically, I believe it goes that no matter what, even if the pedestrian is obviously walking where they shouldn't, if a car hits them it's always the motorist's fault. Now, speaking as someone with friends who HAVE been hit by cars (man, that's a weird statement to proclaim isn't it?), it truly was NOT their faults. They had walked where they were allowed and in all cases I recall them saying that the persons behind the wheel were not paying attention to where they were going.
However, as a self-proclaimed bad old-lady-like driver, I can not help but fear being victimized. Why even my parents had a run-in with a biker (who, I might add, was the one not watching where she was going), which led to a whole fiasco with this hollow-headed Huffy rider. It seemed like a fluke accident, but today made me think that these bikers aren't just hapless victims...it seems they are actually daring us drivers to hit them.
If my drive TO work wasn't enough to make me think this way, the way home FROM work sealed it for sure. Driving back down York Road, traffic was even thicker. I pulled into the turn lane and as I waited patiently for the light to turn another biker veered in and out through the tightly packed cars. This character, wearing a whole Lance Armstrong get-up, pedaled right to the front of the intersection (oh and let me add too that this is the same intersection that only yesterday became clogged after two cars collided). I watched him in awed fascination and fear, as he steadied himself before charging ahead of the line of cars. Happily the road we turned on was a smaller, slower, more residential one, so there was actually some leeway for him.
Still, I can't be sure whether to praise the peddlers or live in genuine fear. One side says that they've got it right--choosing the all-around healthier method to travel, while the other says they should stick to their sidewalks and not try to compete with faster, heavier...deadlier?..vehicles. I dunno, who owns the roads? I guess it depends. Maybe we need to just learn to share. Afterall, haven't we all got the right?...of....way? (*wink *wink)
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Hinder-us-in-a-Webb...of Deceit!
Today, believe it or not, is a momentous occasion. At long last I have paid the last of my debt to the evil corporation known as Hendersen-Webb. For those of you fortunate enough to NOT know/deal with this company, Hendersen-Webb is a property management company that owns several smaller apartment complexes. My affiliation with Hell-in-a-Webb began like any horror story...innocent and lovely and yet by the end it had become a monstrous beast scarfing down money and spewing out court orders. But then I should begin at the beginning...
At the time, I was readying myself to return to Baltimore after nearly a year of living back home in New Jersey. I had gotten a call around mid-summer while relaxing on the beach with my sister, Hill. I didn't right off recognize the number so I let whoever it was leave a message. It was from a school out in Dundalk, explaining they had found my resume online and were interested in meeting me. At long last, after months and months of failed attempts of finding a job, one had found me. I was thrilled, although it meant returning to Maryland, a place of some major heartbreak.
At any rate, when I told Ashley about my impending move she exclaimed how we ought to move in together again, just like the old days. Seeing as how there was little chance I'd be able to find anything I could afford on my own anyway, we set up a date to meet down in Maryland to check some places out.
Since she was already down there, Ashley was able to do some research on her own. One place she suggested was back in Timonium, our old stomping ground from when we were finishing our degrees in Towson University. We arrived at the rental office and a woman let us into the available apartment. It was simple, just a two bedroom with a single bathroom, living room, dining room, and kitchen. But there were plenty of views of the trees around us, and the price was pretty ideal. We discussed it and decided it would work out fine for us.
We continued living with this mindset for almost the whole year. Ash and I were getting along great, Joe was back in my life, and he and I even discussed moving in together for a second go-round. Nothing could prevent everything from working out...until we got....the LETTER....
I had gotten the mail one day when we were nearing the end of our lease, and tucked in amongst the bills was a letter from Hendersen-Webb saying we had to give them notice if we were planning on leaving. Since we still had some time, and honestly I think my mind was just elsewhere, I kinda forgot all about it. I mentioned to Ashley that we had to let them know if we were moving out, but again, I doubt I was really candid about the details.
It became a thought that just tended to nag me in the back of my brain, but, as is typical of the procrastinator's brain, I figured I'd get to it "eventually", that wonderfully always available time that never seems to come until finally, one day, "eventually" came. We realized we had to let them know immediately otherwise they'd automatically renew our lease for ANOTHER YEAR!
Frantically Ash and I sent them the note telling them our intentions, either on the day or maybe ONE day late. But by then the damage had been done. We had figured we were in the clear, until another letter came, claiming that, although they DID receive our letter of intention it was too late and so we would be responsible for another...whole...year of rent.
We were speechless. Just a couple of out-of-college semi-adults who had already signed onto new leases with different complexes could in NO way afford to pay rent to another freakin company for a whole damn year. We pleaded with them that it was only a DAY late, and since they got the note then it shouldn't have mattered anyway. They wouldn't listen. We explained to them that we were both on small incomes, just able to pay our current rents, and asked them to help us. They didn't care.
After some frequent calls Ash found out that if we could find someone to take over the lease, we would be off the hook. I began posting ads on craigslist every couple of weeks, and with every new post we'd get a fresh batch of interested renters, all of which either visited the place and never returned or simply stopped returning my calls. We were at a dead-end, and I felt it was mostly my fault.
Begrudgingly we paid them the additional rent when we could. But before long it began catching up to us. Whenever I had to go back to the scene of the crime, I'd be met with a court order or official letter threatening legal action for lack of payment. I'd just shrug in that way that means its hopeless. There was no way we could've done anything more. They weren't willing to help, so they wouldn't get money from us. We couldn't help it, we were out of options. Meanwhile when we had left they were free to rent our apartment themselves, PLUS get the money we owed. You see the horns coming out yet?
Then another day I got a call from a legal firm saying that they were representing Hendersen-Webb. It was a nice-sounding woman so I sucked it up and called back. She seemed grateful that she didn't have to do alot of phone-tag, saying, "It's so much easier when people are willing to work with you."
And so, I have been paying this company...this vile wretched company...money that they don't even NEED. The apartment's been rented. They didn't lose anything. Meanwhile Ash and I have had this monster sucking away at our bank accounts for over a year now.
But today, as I handed over 5 big ones, I cursed their name again. I hope the person who has been the final say from Hendersen Webb all this time gets this money and is cursed. Not with anything deadly, but with something worse...annoying little things, like flat tires, hang nails, and leaky faucets. Something that would just gnaw away at their senses the same way they've gnawed at us all this time. We shall have our vengeance yet, oh Hitler'son's-Webb! Your day shall come.
At the time, I was readying myself to return to Baltimore after nearly a year of living back home in New Jersey. I had gotten a call around mid-summer while relaxing on the beach with my sister, Hill. I didn't right off recognize the number so I let whoever it was leave a message. It was from a school out in Dundalk, explaining they had found my resume online and were interested in meeting me. At long last, after months and months of failed attempts of finding a job, one had found me. I was thrilled, although it meant returning to Maryland, a place of some major heartbreak.
At any rate, when I told Ashley about my impending move she exclaimed how we ought to move in together again, just like the old days. Seeing as how there was little chance I'd be able to find anything I could afford on my own anyway, we set up a date to meet down in Maryland to check some places out.
Since she was already down there, Ashley was able to do some research on her own. One place she suggested was back in Timonium, our old stomping ground from when we were finishing our degrees in Towson University. We arrived at the rental office and a woman let us into the available apartment. It was simple, just a two bedroom with a single bathroom, living room, dining room, and kitchen. But there were plenty of views of the trees around us, and the price was pretty ideal. We discussed it and decided it would work out fine for us.
We continued living with this mindset for almost the whole year. Ash and I were getting along great, Joe was back in my life, and he and I even discussed moving in together for a second go-round. Nothing could prevent everything from working out...until we got....the LETTER....
I had gotten the mail one day when we were nearing the end of our lease, and tucked in amongst the bills was a letter from Hendersen-Webb saying we had to give them notice if we were planning on leaving. Since we still had some time, and honestly I think my mind was just elsewhere, I kinda forgot all about it. I mentioned to Ashley that we had to let them know if we were moving out, but again, I doubt I was really candid about the details.
It became a thought that just tended to nag me in the back of my brain, but, as is typical of the procrastinator's brain, I figured I'd get to it "eventually", that wonderfully always available time that never seems to come until finally, one day, "eventually" came. We realized we had to let them know immediately otherwise they'd automatically renew our lease for ANOTHER YEAR!
Frantically Ash and I sent them the note telling them our intentions, either on the day or maybe ONE day late. But by then the damage had been done. We had figured we were in the clear, until another letter came, claiming that, although they DID receive our letter of intention it was too late and so we would be responsible for another...whole...year of rent.
We were speechless. Just a couple of out-of-college semi-adults who had already signed onto new leases with different complexes could in NO way afford to pay rent to another freakin company for a whole damn year. We pleaded with them that it was only a DAY late, and since they got the note then it shouldn't have mattered anyway. They wouldn't listen. We explained to them that we were both on small incomes, just able to pay our current rents, and asked them to help us. They didn't care.
After some frequent calls Ash found out that if we could find someone to take over the lease, we would be off the hook. I began posting ads on craigslist every couple of weeks, and with every new post we'd get a fresh batch of interested renters, all of which either visited the place and never returned or simply stopped returning my calls. We were at a dead-end, and I felt it was mostly my fault.
Begrudgingly we paid them the additional rent when we could. But before long it began catching up to us. Whenever I had to go back to the scene of the crime, I'd be met with a court order or official letter threatening legal action for lack of payment. I'd just shrug in that way that means its hopeless. There was no way we could've done anything more. They weren't willing to help, so they wouldn't get money from us. We couldn't help it, we were out of options. Meanwhile when we had left they were free to rent our apartment themselves, PLUS get the money we owed. You see the horns coming out yet?
Then another day I got a call from a legal firm saying that they were representing Hendersen-Webb. It was a nice-sounding woman so I sucked it up and called back. She seemed grateful that she didn't have to do alot of phone-tag, saying, "It's so much easier when people are willing to work with you."
And so, I have been paying this company...this vile wretched company...money that they don't even NEED. The apartment's been rented. They didn't lose anything. Meanwhile Ash and I have had this monster sucking away at our bank accounts for over a year now.
But today, as I handed over 5 big ones, I cursed their name again. I hope the person who has been the final say from Hendersen Webb all this time gets this money and is cursed. Not with anything deadly, but with something worse...annoying little things, like flat tires, hang nails, and leaky faucets. Something that would just gnaw away at their senses the same way they've gnawed at us all this time. We shall have our vengeance yet, oh Hitler'son's-Webb! Your day shall come.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Sports Infiltrated: The Soccer Issue
My mind's a little blank tonight as to what to write about so I'll just go with the first thing that pops in my head. Let's see.......football, a.k.a. soccer to us.
Shockingly, it's not so much the want to watch "Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List" or "Pawn Stars" that is egging me towards flipping on the tv. It's the damn World Cup.
I say this is surprising, because I've never been what you would call a "sports fan". I tried to play some as a kid. You know, the kind your parents enroll you in before you have a chance to object, like soccer and softball. Plus my dad was always either an assistant or actual coach, (Didn't most of us have fathers that did that?) so then I really couldn't get out of it. But it was always pretty fun, for us kids anyway. No matter how many drills they made us do it always seemed that the skills ended up elsewhere while we scrambled around just trying to either kick or hit the ball as hard as we could. Meanwhile we would take pleasure at hearing our own parents screaming at the top of their lungs and watching their faces get purple as they disagreed vehemently at the poor rent-a-ref. They demanded justice for their little Susie, a redo, a recall. All we, and little Susie, wanted was for the game to be over so we could get our orange slices (or sometimes if we won, to get ice cream or pizza).
That, and then an attempt at basketball and softball in middle school (and a season of cross country in high school) basically summed up all my affiliation with the world of sports. I tried to watch football but it seemed too tedious and confusing. Baseball was simpler, but that made it even MORE boring. I figured I was just one of those girls that couldn't get into it. And I figured I never would.
Then when I went to college and befriended the English guys, Matt and Dave, on our floor in the dorm rooms, I became reintroduced to the world of soccer, ahem, football. They tried to get my friend Ashley and me into it by watching a game whenever one was going on. But this being America, places rarely showed games, let alone European ones.
Finally when Ashley and I made the trek out to visit them in England, one of our intended purposes was to sit together and watch a match. We walked to a pub near Matt's house and after we had our beer in front of us, I really sensed the difference in watching a sport there as opposed to the typical ones in America. Usually at sports bars there is so much going on, you barely hear or notice the game. Instead, all faces were turned to the big screen, and except for the minor comments here and there, courtesy of Dave trying to explain each call or flag that we asked about, the place was pretty quiet. It was kinda nice. It made the experience seemed special in a way, and we were able to be a part of it.
Of course, that nice easy experience might have been due to the fact that Matt's house resides in a quiet little neighborhood. The next time Matt came around to the states, we found ourselves in a "pub" ready to watch another country v. country game. This however, was not the quiet little evening we had had before. Instead the place was packed wall to wall with hardcore "football" fans, decked out in their country's jerseys. It was definitely more riled, but that made it more exciting. I found myself screaming at the screen just as much as the others around me.
Finally, when I decided to study abroad, I knew slightly what to expect. The guys I befriended there were also interested in learning more about this international sport, so whenever there was a game on we'd try to get to the Union Pub as early as possible to grab seats.
Towards the end of our trip, we realized we wanted to see a live game. The city of the school we attended, Norwich, just happened to have their team in the Premiership (basically the highest level). But since they weren't doing terribly well, we figured we ought to see them as soon as possible before we leave...and they get knocked down to Division One.
We arrived at the stadium early, obtained tickets, and waited for it to open up. When it finally did we found our seats, happily surprised that we actually had a good view. There we were, a couple of Americans infiltrating this wildly popular sport, screaming along like regular fans, booing a bad judgment and cheering at a goal. We had a blast, but were left wondering...why ISN'T America part of this?
Now I'm sure I'm going to get a schooling as to why this is (go ahead Gulliver, I know you are dying to), but in any event, even if America is just starting to catch up, I still feel proud to have learned as much as I have so far about it. Granted, I am by NO MEANS an expert, and there are still things that confuse the hell outta me (I still don't understand how to read the stats).
But I do like to watch if I can, either by myself or with a group of people who care and are really into it. I'm telling you, the excitement is infectious if you are with the right people, whom I was lucky enough to be around.
So go, grab a lager, and get into it.
Shockingly, it's not so much the want to watch "Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D-List" or "Pawn Stars" that is egging me towards flipping on the tv. It's the damn World Cup.
I say this is surprising, because I've never been what you would call a "sports fan". I tried to play some as a kid. You know, the kind your parents enroll you in before you have a chance to object, like soccer and softball. Plus my dad was always either an assistant or actual coach, (Didn't most of us have fathers that did that?) so then I really couldn't get out of it. But it was always pretty fun, for us kids anyway. No matter how many drills they made us do it always seemed that the skills ended up elsewhere while we scrambled around just trying to either kick or hit the ball as hard as we could. Meanwhile we would take pleasure at hearing our own parents screaming at the top of their lungs and watching their faces get purple as they disagreed vehemently at the poor rent-a-ref. They demanded justice for their little Susie, a redo, a recall. All we, and little Susie, wanted was for the game to be over so we could get our orange slices (or sometimes if we won, to get ice cream or pizza).
That, and then an attempt at basketball and softball in middle school (and a season of cross country in high school) basically summed up all my affiliation with the world of sports. I tried to watch football but it seemed too tedious and confusing. Baseball was simpler, but that made it even MORE boring. I figured I was just one of those girls that couldn't get into it. And I figured I never would.
Then when I went to college and befriended the English guys, Matt and Dave, on our floor in the dorm rooms, I became reintroduced to the world of soccer, ahem, football. They tried to get my friend Ashley and me into it by watching a game whenever one was going on. But this being America, places rarely showed games, let alone European ones.
Finally when Ashley and I made the trek out to visit them in England, one of our intended purposes was to sit together and watch a match. We walked to a pub near Matt's house and after we had our beer in front of us, I really sensed the difference in watching a sport there as opposed to the typical ones in America. Usually at sports bars there is so much going on, you barely hear or notice the game. Instead, all faces were turned to the big screen, and except for the minor comments here and there, courtesy of Dave trying to explain each call or flag that we asked about, the place was pretty quiet. It was kinda nice. It made the experience seemed special in a way, and we were able to be a part of it.
Of course, that nice easy experience might have been due to the fact that Matt's house resides in a quiet little neighborhood. The next time Matt came around to the states, we found ourselves in a "pub" ready to watch another country v. country game. This however, was not the quiet little evening we had had before. Instead the place was packed wall to wall with hardcore "football" fans, decked out in their country's jerseys. It was definitely more riled, but that made it more exciting. I found myself screaming at the screen just as much as the others around me.
Finally, when I decided to study abroad, I knew slightly what to expect. The guys I befriended there were also interested in learning more about this international sport, so whenever there was a game on we'd try to get to the Union Pub as early as possible to grab seats.
Towards the end of our trip, we realized we wanted to see a live game. The city of the school we attended, Norwich, just happened to have their team in the Premiership (basically the highest level). But since they weren't doing terribly well, we figured we ought to see them as soon as possible before we leave...and they get knocked down to Division One.
We arrived at the stadium early, obtained tickets, and waited for it to open up. When it finally did we found our seats, happily surprised that we actually had a good view. There we were, a couple of Americans infiltrating this wildly popular sport, screaming along like regular fans, booing a bad judgment and cheering at a goal. We had a blast, but were left wondering...why ISN'T America part of this?
Now I'm sure I'm going to get a schooling as to why this is (go ahead Gulliver, I know you are dying to), but in any event, even if America is just starting to catch up, I still feel proud to have learned as much as I have so far about it. Granted, I am by NO MEANS an expert, and there are still things that confuse the hell outta me (I still don't understand how to read the stats).
But I do like to watch if I can, either by myself or with a group of people who care and are really into it. I'm telling you, the excitement is infectious if you are with the right people, whom I was lucky enough to be around.
So go, grab a lager, and get into it.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Lucy Love
Happy to have my Internet back but as you can see, I'm back to my old habits of waiting to the VERY last minute to post. So sorry about that.
BUT you will be happy/impressed/interested to know I have kept to my challenge of not watching TV, and speaking of that, let's get to the update...
**UPDATE**The Living Year: Day 14
Still getting by with no TV, and honestly haven't been missing it all THAT much. Like I said before, it only gets difficult at night and when Joe is out. The silence freaks me out so I have to have the radio on. Or...now don't turn on my until I explain...I've been watching old "I Love Lucy" DVDS.
Ok, I can hear you guys calling foul on me but I think I figured out a way to justify it. For one, they aren't on regular television, so I can't get sucked into the cycle of watching show after show after show, wondering where the hell my day went. Also, I realized the fact that I'm lazy is a benefit and keeps me honest. After all, it takes alot more "work" to get up, go through the different discs, and then switch one out for another (as opposed to say, picking up a book and laying horizontally for a few hours). So I really haven't been watching that many, just when Joe's at rehearsal or with his buddies.
And really, I Love Lucy is the only show I have been doing this with, and actually, I think I'm appreciating this show in a whole new way. It kinda reminds me of this article I read about ways to be healthier with food, one of which describes how you should sit and savor the foods you eat, tasting every nuance and subtlety, instead of just mindlessly shoveling it in just to satisfy your hunger.
Since I'm no longer shoveling random shit in front of my eyes, it's like I'm seeing one of my old favorite shows for the very first time, savoring every joke and admiring every delicate display of genius comedic timing. Maybe this is the old lady in me (it's a rare condition) talking, but they just don't make shows like this anymore.
Granted, sometimes the show is a little too corny or old-fashioned. Like for instance, when Lucy thinks Ricky may be screwing around with his new dancer, the worst she can call him is a "Big Stinker". Ouch, Lucy, pull back the talons.
But then again, sometimes I get a little surprised at actually how modern it can be. In another episode Ethel and Fred are arguing (little fun fact: did you know the actors who played Ethel and Fred Murtz- Vivian Vance and William Frawley- didn't get along in real life either? Vance was insulted at the idea of even pretending to be married to Frawley who was a good deal older. Frawley, in turn, often resorted to name-calling and even stalled the production of some episodes due to their bickering), and when Lucy makes a comment about it, Ethel replies, "Are you kidding? This is how we make love". I know, gasp! Even though back in that time "making love" to a person could be as innocent as kissing their hand, it HAD to still have some sexual connotations. And to hear that come out of the mouths of these black and white characters frozen in the idealistic 50s is pretty shocking. But then again, the feminist in me (she hangs out with the old lady in me) often struggles between love and hate for the show due to its time period as well.
One one hand, I see the sit-com featuring the ideal little housewife. Lucy doesn't work, she cries or wheedles to get what she wants, and has to live in fear of being cut off for buying another hat (and speaking of which, when did the idea of wearing hats go out of fashion? It seems so abrupt. Back in the day women didn't have just a snow hat, they actually wore hats for fashion. Hell, even all men wore hats. And nowadays, not so much. I dunno, just curious if anyone has any insight to why the fad faded). On the surface, she embodies everything the feminist sought to destroy. The idea that we were nothing but housekeepers and cooks, grateful as long as we had a man to take care of us, was exactly what I Love Lucy tended to perpetuate. I remember another episode where Lucy actually DOES finally achieve some show business attention and Ricky appears downtrodden and upset. He tells her he just wants "a wife who will clean the house, bring him his pipe, cook his meals, and be the 'mama' for his children". And Lucy, giving up her dream to satisfy her husband's wishes, happily complies by offering him a fresh-baked pie. I mean, what the hell is THAT? I know, I'm reading too much into that. And I could go on and on about the symbolism of that--offering him her pie....you know what I mean, but that would be neglectful of the OTHER side of the argument.
On the other hand, I see Lucille Ball as a hero- a comedienne who displayed not only beauty and charm, but the facial expressions and body movements that would rival comedians today (you hear that Jim Carrey?) She was a master at timing, hitting a joke or comment with such perfection it caught you off guard. I've seen these episodes for years now, and yet still I find myself spitting out my food and nearly choking because I was laughing so hard. One great example of this is in an episode where Lucy hosts a seance and in order to make certain their guest, Ricky's intended boss, makes contact, she sneaks off to pretend to be the voice of his beloved Tilly. Lucy accidentally sneezes, to which the boss replies, "Tilly, you are sneezing. Are you sick?" Lucy pauses for just a beat and then replies, "Sick? I'm DEAD". I know the humor is lost written out, but trust me, it's funny. I'm still smiling to myself about it. And I don't think I ever noticed that line before as much. But thanks to this little pet project I can actually enjoy these great moments of classic television.
Anyway, damnit, I keep trying to keep these things short but they just seem to run away from me. Oh well, till tomorrow beloved readers!
BUT you will be happy/impressed/interested to know I have kept to my challenge of not watching TV, and speaking of that, let's get to the update...
**UPDATE**The Living Year: Day 14
Still getting by with no TV, and honestly haven't been missing it all THAT much. Like I said before, it only gets difficult at night and when Joe is out. The silence freaks me out so I have to have the radio on. Or...now don't turn on my until I explain...I've been watching old "I Love Lucy" DVDS.
Ok, I can hear you guys calling foul on me but I think I figured out a way to justify it. For one, they aren't on regular television, so I can't get sucked into the cycle of watching show after show after show, wondering where the hell my day went. Also, I realized the fact that I'm lazy is a benefit and keeps me honest. After all, it takes alot more "work" to get up, go through the different discs, and then switch one out for another (as opposed to say, picking up a book and laying horizontally for a few hours). So I really haven't been watching that many, just when Joe's at rehearsal or with his buddies.
And really, I Love Lucy is the only show I have been doing this with, and actually, I think I'm appreciating this show in a whole new way. It kinda reminds me of this article I read about ways to be healthier with food, one of which describes how you should sit and savor the foods you eat, tasting every nuance and subtlety, instead of just mindlessly shoveling it in just to satisfy your hunger.
Since I'm no longer shoveling random shit in front of my eyes, it's like I'm seeing one of my old favorite shows for the very first time, savoring every joke and admiring every delicate display of genius comedic timing. Maybe this is the old lady in me (it's a rare condition) talking, but they just don't make shows like this anymore.
Granted, sometimes the show is a little too corny or old-fashioned. Like for instance, when Lucy thinks Ricky may be screwing around with his new dancer, the worst she can call him is a "Big Stinker". Ouch, Lucy, pull back the talons.
But then again, sometimes I get a little surprised at actually how modern it can be. In another episode Ethel and Fred are arguing (little fun fact: did you know the actors who played Ethel and Fred Murtz- Vivian Vance and William Frawley- didn't get along in real life either? Vance was insulted at the idea of even pretending to be married to Frawley who was a good deal older. Frawley, in turn, often resorted to name-calling and even stalled the production of some episodes due to their bickering), and when Lucy makes a comment about it, Ethel replies, "Are you kidding? This is how we make love". I know, gasp! Even though back in that time "making love" to a person could be as innocent as kissing their hand, it HAD to still have some sexual connotations. And to hear that come out of the mouths of these black and white characters frozen in the idealistic 50s is pretty shocking. But then again, the feminist in me (she hangs out with the old lady in me) often struggles between love and hate for the show due to its time period as well.
One one hand, I see the sit-com featuring the ideal little housewife. Lucy doesn't work, she cries or wheedles to get what she wants, and has to live in fear of being cut off for buying another hat (and speaking of which, when did the idea of wearing hats go out of fashion? It seems so abrupt. Back in the day women didn't have just a snow hat, they actually wore hats for fashion. Hell, even all men wore hats. And nowadays, not so much. I dunno, just curious if anyone has any insight to why the fad faded). On the surface, she embodies everything the feminist sought to destroy. The idea that we were nothing but housekeepers and cooks, grateful as long as we had a man to take care of us, was exactly what I Love Lucy tended to perpetuate. I remember another episode where Lucy actually DOES finally achieve some show business attention and Ricky appears downtrodden and upset. He tells her he just wants "a wife who will clean the house, bring him his pipe, cook his meals, and be the 'mama' for his children". And Lucy, giving up her dream to satisfy her husband's wishes, happily complies by offering him a fresh-baked pie. I mean, what the hell is THAT? I know, I'm reading too much into that. And I could go on and on about the symbolism of that--offering him her pie....you know what I mean, but that would be neglectful of the OTHER side of the argument.
On the other hand, I see Lucille Ball as a hero- a comedienne who displayed not only beauty and charm, but the facial expressions and body movements that would rival comedians today (you hear that Jim Carrey?) She was a master at timing, hitting a joke or comment with such perfection it caught you off guard. I've seen these episodes for years now, and yet still I find myself spitting out my food and nearly choking because I was laughing so hard. One great example of this is in an episode where Lucy hosts a seance and in order to make certain their guest, Ricky's intended boss, makes contact, she sneaks off to pretend to be the voice of his beloved Tilly. Lucy accidentally sneezes, to which the boss replies, "Tilly, you are sneezing. Are you sick?" Lucy pauses for just a beat and then replies, "Sick? I'm DEAD". I know the humor is lost written out, but trust me, it's funny. I'm still smiling to myself about it. And I don't think I ever noticed that line before as much. But thanks to this little pet project I can actually enjoy these great moments of classic television.
Anyway, damnit, I keep trying to keep these things short but they just seem to run away from me. Oh well, till tomorrow beloved readers!
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Still Loving You Sunday Morning...Despite Saturday
Joe and I were driving yesterday down to Bourbon Street, a bar downtown that shows local bands every Monday as part of 98 Rock's "Noise in the Basement", and talking about music. He was trying to find something worthwhile to listen to on the radio, and I made the comment about how listening to the radio stations today is like playing a card game, depending on the station you either get a commercially safe "rock" station, the soccer-Mom-approved American Idols station, or the classic oldies that have been raped for use on commercials. Just depends on who's got the better song at the time...or "hand" as the metaphor goes.
He said I ought to write about that, otherwise he would. I dunno, I think that was as far as I thought about it. So go ahead Joe, and take it from here...
Anyway, speaking of music, last Saturday was the long-anticipated M3 Rock Festival. Ever since I first heard that it was coming back around I have been so excited. And THEN they announced that the headliner was going to be the Scorpions - my excitement sky rocketed.
Now this is going to probably sound weird but I think the first time I heard "Rock You Like a Hurricane" was for a commercial for the very first "Monsters of Rock" album. I was fairly young at the time, just watching television as always, and I was struck by the sound...and the glimpse of the video that they showed during the ad. It was of a bunch of people slamming themselves into this huge metal-linked fence thing. The music was so punching itself it was as if the people couldn't help themselves or something. I dunno, it sounds weird but that image has always stayed with me, and that song always left a lasting impression. It may have been the reason I really started to feel out for more glam and hair metal (so you can either thank or blame them depending on which side of the metal-linked fence you are on).
From there I listened to anything of theirs I could get my ears on..."No One Like You", "Big City Nights", "Winds of Change", "Rhythm of Love", and my latest favorites: "The Zoo" and "Loving You Sunday Morning". Now I should say before I go any further that though I love this band, and really any band that I'm obsessed with, I AM one of those fans that actually knows practically NOTHING about them. Yes yes I am one of those, but I stand here (or sit here, rather) and admit it. I'm so bad I didn't even know the lead singer's name...Klaus something right? So before I get the tons of schooling, I just want to put it out there honestly that I pay attention to the MUSIC, not necessarily the band's bio. Fair enough? Ok, so back to the M3...
Now, being a fan of what you would call "older" music, has both its benefits and disadvantages. A benefit is that usually seeing these bands isn't terribly expensive. The disadvantage is you will probably feel out of place among the biker chicks and redneck guys. It's good because they seem to tour EVERY summer so even if you miss them this year you can always try the next. It sucks though, because there are only so many "older" bands out there....and they are always getting older. Surprisingly this wasn't a problem I noticed before with the other bands I've seen like Styx or Journey. Unfortunately, this fact DID come to the forefront on Saturday.
My friend and I actually made it to the festival at a reasonable time (as opposed to last year when I was so unforgivably late that we caught just the tail-end of Extreme). We managed to get our $11 sangria (no joke) and in the heat we downed those suckers like Juicy Juice. We also scored actual seats this year, considering that it is the Scorpions last hurrah before they hang up their hair and retire.
We listened to Kix, who were pretty awesome, and Cinderella, who freaking turned it out. Then finally it was the Scorps turn. Now again, let me pause a minute and give you a bit more back story as to why I was so stoked for this show. I've been trying to see these guys for years, but they never seemed to make it to the states (and if they did it was always to either L.A. or N.Y. at the worst possible time). So the fact that they were part of this already awesome line-up, going to be local, AND that it was going to be their last tour, I figured the Gods were hand-picking me for this destiny...ok, maybe that's a little dramatic, but hell, I was EXCITED.
We had our beers in hand, we had peed, and we had a pretty good view. We were ready. They came on stage. And then....what the hell is that? From where we were sitting the sounds were getting all garbled. We could just barely make out his voice. What song is this? A song from their newest album? We waited for a song or two just to make sure, but then we ended up leaving our seats to make it onto the lawn. The sound quality improved, but the songs didn't seem to. I sat there like a kid waiting on line to see Santa but was met instead by an obvious imposter.
Then I suddenly became terribly crest-fallen and critical of everything. He stuck his microphone out to the audience too much. They pulled Vince Neil back on stage to sing one of the songs. He wasn't reaching the high notes I had so anticipated hearing. I wanted to hear HIM sing the damn songs, not Johnny Nobody or freakin Vince Neil! I wasn't the only one either, and as my friend and I exchanged comments and looks of despair, I heard a woman lying on a blanket next to us suddenly offer some insight...
"He's been sick lately, that's why he can't sing the way he used to...plus the fact that the guy is pushing near 60," she said. I asked her if he always pushed the microphone into the audience this much.
"Yeah, I've seen them before and he did do that. But not as much as this. Again, probably due to his voice," she said, settling back onto her blanket.
We stuck around to hear the majority of the set, happy to hear "Big City Nights" and "The Zoo", but by the time we realized they were going to exit just to come back to do "Rock You like a Hurricane" as the encore, we packed up and headed for the car.
It wasn't the same feeling I got back when I was kid or later on in the privacy of my car or room. I guess that's the saddest part. It'll never be what it was, or in my case, seeing as how this will probably be my last and only time to see the Scorps, it never CAN be, because these poor guys are just going to get older. Kinda depressing, but at least I'll always have the memories...and a subscription to iTunes.
You guys bored? Depressed? Hungry? Don't worry, update on The Living Year and with some comments on I Love Lucy tomorrow.
He said I ought to write about that, otherwise he would. I dunno, I think that was as far as I thought about it. So go ahead Joe, and take it from here...
Anyway, speaking of music, last Saturday was the long-anticipated M3 Rock Festival. Ever since I first heard that it was coming back around I have been so excited. And THEN they announced that the headliner was going to be the Scorpions - my excitement sky rocketed.
Now this is going to probably sound weird but I think the first time I heard "Rock You Like a Hurricane" was for a commercial for the very first "Monsters of Rock" album. I was fairly young at the time, just watching television as always, and I was struck by the sound...and the glimpse of the video that they showed during the ad. It was of a bunch of people slamming themselves into this huge metal-linked fence thing. The music was so punching itself it was as if the people couldn't help themselves or something. I dunno, it sounds weird but that image has always stayed with me, and that song always left a lasting impression. It may have been the reason I really started to feel out for more glam and hair metal (so you can either thank or blame them depending on which side of the metal-linked fence you are on).
From there I listened to anything of theirs I could get my ears on..."No One Like You", "Big City Nights", "Winds of Change", "Rhythm of Love", and my latest favorites: "The Zoo" and "Loving You Sunday Morning". Now I should say before I go any further that though I love this band, and really any band that I'm obsessed with, I AM one of those fans that actually knows practically NOTHING about them. Yes yes I am one of those, but I stand here (or sit here, rather) and admit it. I'm so bad I didn't even know the lead singer's name...Klaus something right? So before I get the tons of schooling, I just want to put it out there honestly that I pay attention to the MUSIC, not necessarily the band's bio. Fair enough? Ok, so back to the M3...
Now, being a fan of what you would call "older" music, has both its benefits and disadvantages. A benefit is that usually seeing these bands isn't terribly expensive. The disadvantage is you will probably feel out of place among the biker chicks and redneck guys. It's good because they seem to tour EVERY summer so even if you miss them this year you can always try the next. It sucks though, because there are only so many "older" bands out there....and they are always getting older. Surprisingly this wasn't a problem I noticed before with the other bands I've seen like Styx or Journey. Unfortunately, this fact DID come to the forefront on Saturday.
My friend and I actually made it to the festival at a reasonable time (as opposed to last year when I was so unforgivably late that we caught just the tail-end of Extreme). We managed to get our $11 sangria (no joke) and in the heat we downed those suckers like Juicy Juice. We also scored actual seats this year, considering that it is the Scorpions last hurrah before they hang up their hair and retire.
We listened to Kix, who were pretty awesome, and Cinderella, who freaking turned it out. Then finally it was the Scorps turn. Now again, let me pause a minute and give you a bit more back story as to why I was so stoked for this show. I've been trying to see these guys for years, but they never seemed to make it to the states (and if they did it was always to either L.A. or N.Y. at the worst possible time). So the fact that they were part of this already awesome line-up, going to be local, AND that it was going to be their last tour, I figured the Gods were hand-picking me for this destiny...ok, maybe that's a little dramatic, but hell, I was EXCITED.
We had our beers in hand, we had peed, and we had a pretty good view. We were ready. They came on stage. And then....what the hell is that? From where we were sitting the sounds were getting all garbled. We could just barely make out his voice. What song is this? A song from their newest album? We waited for a song or two just to make sure, but then we ended up leaving our seats to make it onto the lawn. The sound quality improved, but the songs didn't seem to. I sat there like a kid waiting on line to see Santa but was met instead by an obvious imposter.
Then I suddenly became terribly crest-fallen and critical of everything. He stuck his microphone out to the audience too much. They pulled Vince Neil back on stage to sing one of the songs. He wasn't reaching the high notes I had so anticipated hearing. I wanted to hear HIM sing the damn songs, not Johnny Nobody or freakin Vince Neil! I wasn't the only one either, and as my friend and I exchanged comments and looks of despair, I heard a woman lying on a blanket next to us suddenly offer some insight...
"He's been sick lately, that's why he can't sing the way he used to...plus the fact that the guy is pushing near 60," she said. I asked her if he always pushed the microphone into the audience this much.
"Yeah, I've seen them before and he did do that. But not as much as this. Again, probably due to his voice," she said, settling back onto her blanket.
We stuck around to hear the majority of the set, happy to hear "Big City Nights" and "The Zoo", but by the time we realized they were going to exit just to come back to do "Rock You like a Hurricane" as the encore, we packed up and headed for the car.
It wasn't the same feeling I got back when I was kid or later on in the privacy of my car or room. I guess that's the saddest part. It'll never be what it was, or in my case, seeing as how this will probably be my last and only time to see the Scorps, it never CAN be, because these poor guys are just going to get older. Kinda depressing, but at least I'll always have the memories...and a subscription to iTunes.
You guys bored? Depressed? Hungry? Don't worry, update on The Living Year and with some comments on I Love Lucy tomorrow.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Sell Out
Happy Monday everyone! It seems ironic to me that since I've had my Internet shut off I've actually been more consistent with this damn blog than I was when I'd sit cross-legged on my chaise couch going between thinking of something to write and stealing glances of episodes of Will & Grace. And speaking of t.v., let's do a quick update....
**UPDATE**The Living Year: Day 12
As of yesterday, at around 6 p.m., I completed the second novel I had been reading since this challenge began. The first was called, "Barefoot" which was a light yet interesting read and this second, "On the Corner of Bitter and Sweet" (I think that's the name) seemed much more traditional but incorporated historical fiction (a favorite topic of mine).
I've also tried to stock up on magazines to use as a nice in-between for the novels. My coworker helped out by donating her 20+ issues of Cosmo to me, which are still sitting in a box in the backseat of my car. I am kicking myself right now because a few weeks ago, before her generous offering, I was at a supermarket with my friend Kelly and figured I'd get a couple magazines there. My choices? In Touch (because it was cheap), People (because I thought it would be slightly informative), and Glamour (because nothing says summer more than lounging on a sweaty lawn chair and picking sand out from between the pages of an article about the newest feminist legislation next to the "8 Ways to a Better Butt").
And speaking of People magazine, when the hell did they sell out whatever journalistic integrity they ever had? I remember as a kid being bored and sneaking my mom's People magazine when it came through the mail and reading some actually newsworthy stories. Sure they had their entertainment section, but even that seemed to be done intelligently. I always trusted them because they didn't LIKE everything that came out in theaters or on television. I used to look forward to being agreed with, either negatively or positively-or sometimes even disagreed with.
So when I bought my very own copy a few weeks ago, I was sadly disappointed. Not only were the once informative articles replaced with stupid celebrity sightings, but the entertainment section was just a giant kiss-ass for every pop outlet. There were no pans, nothing less than 4 out 5 stars, not a thumbs-down in sight. I'm not saying they had to hate everything but really People? EVERYTHING coming out is just oh-so-wonderful and perfectly enjoyable? Who broke your critical bone? Oh well, another magazine bows and takes the corporate pole in the ass...
Anyway, other than the magazines and novels, I have been keeping busy with walks and thoughtful introspection, you know, the kind involving skipping stones and staring at lawn ornaments. Deep deep stuff.
Well, my time's up here. See you tomorrow!
**UPDATE**The Living Year: Day 12
As of yesterday, at around 6 p.m., I completed the second novel I had been reading since this challenge began. The first was called, "Barefoot" which was a light yet interesting read and this second, "On the Corner of Bitter and Sweet" (I think that's the name) seemed much more traditional but incorporated historical fiction (a favorite topic of mine).
I've also tried to stock up on magazines to use as a nice in-between for the novels. My coworker helped out by donating her 20+ issues of Cosmo to me, which are still sitting in a box in the backseat of my car. I am kicking myself right now because a few weeks ago, before her generous offering, I was at a supermarket with my friend Kelly and figured I'd get a couple magazines there. My choices? In Touch (because it was cheap), People (because I thought it would be slightly informative), and Glamour (because nothing says summer more than lounging on a sweaty lawn chair and picking sand out from between the pages of an article about the newest feminist legislation next to the "8 Ways to a Better Butt").
And speaking of People magazine, when the hell did they sell out whatever journalistic integrity they ever had? I remember as a kid being bored and sneaking my mom's People magazine when it came through the mail and reading some actually newsworthy stories. Sure they had their entertainment section, but even that seemed to be done intelligently. I always trusted them because they didn't LIKE everything that came out in theaters or on television. I used to look forward to being agreed with, either negatively or positively-or sometimes even disagreed with.
So when I bought my very own copy a few weeks ago, I was sadly disappointed. Not only were the once informative articles replaced with stupid celebrity sightings, but the entertainment section was just a giant kiss-ass for every pop outlet. There were no pans, nothing less than 4 out 5 stars, not a thumbs-down in sight. I'm not saying they had to hate everything but really People? EVERYTHING coming out is just oh-so-wonderful and perfectly enjoyable? Who broke your critical bone? Oh well, another magazine bows and takes the corporate pole in the ass...
Anyway, other than the magazines and novels, I have been keeping busy with walks and thoughtful introspection, you know, the kind involving skipping stones and staring at lawn ornaments. Deep deep stuff.
Well, my time's up here. See you tomorrow!
Friday, June 18, 2010
Black Heart Down
I was driving to work today listening to the radio, as usual, when I was suddenly taken aback by one of the news stories: two 10 year olds were...what, arrested sounds almost too absurd a word to be referring to children, but captured makes it sound like they were thrown into potato sacks...let's just say apprehended, for killing a PUPPY! Apparently these two heathens found nothing better to do than throw rocks and sticks at a puppy that was chained at a country club or golf course, some random place that seemed out of place like a MadLibs noun.
I was so appalled, I felt like gagging. I mean really, how much of a charred briquette is your heart that you would do that to any animal, let alone a little puppy! It angered me terribly, especially since I've been obsessing these past months over the precise details on how to just keep a dog happy, let alone safe. It really disheartened me, but sadly, this kind of thing is not new for this area.
Just a few months ago a dog was set on fire by some other maniac-kids. The dog survived only long enough to lick it's rescuers before finally being put down. Another dog was chained and accosted by bricks by another gang of hell-bound idiots. This dog, I believe, was also rescued but thankfully survived and was adopted to a nice family.
I'm not sure exactly what disturbed me more, the fact that these incidents occurred at all or the fact that they were perpetrated by misguided assholes who were CHILDREN. I'm sure that I'm the only one who feels this way, but I hope these kids get the EXACT punishment that fit the crime. And I don't real care if that makes me sound like a bleeding heart. Dogs learn negative behavior from their owners, plain and simple. Sure, they all have their own personalities, but of all the highly educational dog-training reality shows I have clocked, no expert has ever claimed a dog to be a bad dog; scared, certainly. Aggressive towards food, maybe. But these things always seemed to be linked to their early puppy-hood and how they were handled.
I kept driving thinking about a section from one of David Sedaris' books about his visit with one of his sisters. Sedaris mentioned how his sister had a dog that was like her child, saying, "My little collie gets a flea and I get hysterical." He also described how his sister could pass by a horrible car accident and rather than show concern for the human victims, she would simply reply, "I hope there wasn't a dog in that car."
I think I'm probably the same way. I can't take seeing dogs getting hurt, even if its just in the movies. I cried practically every time that damn Sarah McLaughlin commercial for the ASPCA came on. I guess because I see dogs, and all animals really, as kind of voiceless (duh, right?). But really, we take these animals in to be our comfort, our companions. And when I hear about horrible abuse to an innocent victim it just breaks my heart and makes me want to get a crowbar and kick some ass. Yeah I do feel that same sense of anger at the thought of child abuse too, but let's face it, there's ALOT of people out there trying to prevent that, and they are all definitely heroes. Dogs and other pets should be protected as well. Right? Ok, I'll get off my soap box now.
Sorry this is kinda short one, but I need to kinda skee-daddle. I've got India Palace waiting for me for lunch AND tomorrow I will be at the long anticipated M3 Rock Festival. Oh yes, my hair is standing up already.
See you readers on Monday!
I was so appalled, I felt like gagging. I mean really, how much of a charred briquette is your heart that you would do that to any animal, let alone a little puppy! It angered me terribly, especially since I've been obsessing these past months over the precise details on how to just keep a dog happy, let alone safe. It really disheartened me, but sadly, this kind of thing is not new for this area.
Just a few months ago a dog was set on fire by some other maniac-kids. The dog survived only long enough to lick it's rescuers before finally being put down. Another dog was chained and accosted by bricks by another gang of hell-bound idiots. This dog, I believe, was also rescued but thankfully survived and was adopted to a nice family.
I'm not sure exactly what disturbed me more, the fact that these incidents occurred at all or the fact that they were perpetrated by misguided assholes who were CHILDREN. I'm sure that I'm the only one who feels this way, but I hope these kids get the EXACT punishment that fit the crime. And I don't real care if that makes me sound like a bleeding heart. Dogs learn negative behavior from their owners, plain and simple. Sure, they all have their own personalities, but of all the highly educational dog-training reality shows I have clocked, no expert has ever claimed a dog to be a bad dog; scared, certainly. Aggressive towards food, maybe. But these things always seemed to be linked to their early puppy-hood and how they were handled.
I kept driving thinking about a section from one of David Sedaris' books about his visit with one of his sisters. Sedaris mentioned how his sister had a dog that was like her child, saying, "My little collie gets a flea and I get hysterical." He also described how his sister could pass by a horrible car accident and rather than show concern for the human victims, she would simply reply, "I hope there wasn't a dog in that car."
I think I'm probably the same way. I can't take seeing dogs getting hurt, even if its just in the movies. I cried practically every time that damn Sarah McLaughlin commercial for the ASPCA came on. I guess because I see dogs, and all animals really, as kind of voiceless (duh, right?). But really, we take these animals in to be our comfort, our companions. And when I hear about horrible abuse to an innocent victim it just breaks my heart and makes me want to get a crowbar and kick some ass. Yeah I do feel that same sense of anger at the thought of child abuse too, but let's face it, there's ALOT of people out there trying to prevent that, and they are all definitely heroes. Dogs and other pets should be protected as well. Right? Ok, I'll get off my soap box now.
Sorry this is kinda short one, but I need to kinda skee-daddle. I've got India Palace waiting for me for lunch AND tomorrow I will be at the long anticipated M3 Rock Festival. Oh yes, my hair is standing up already.
See you readers on Monday!
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Movin' On Up and Out
As I was so lovingly made aware, I am talking about television too much. Normally I'd have nothing else to talk about but thankfully I have news...I will not in fact be homeless when our lease is up in July, because we FOUND A PLACE! And a townhouse, at that.
Yes, for those of you who didn't hear Joe and I have been rushing to find a place since we informed out apartment complex our plans to vacate about a month ago. Now, normally you'd wait to do this until you knew where you were going, but we (apparently) like to live on the wild-side. Go for the gamble, put it all on red, etc. And, unlike most of my bets, we came back on top.
The problem with our search criteria was how specific it was: Joe's in the city, I'm in Hunt Valley. We wanted someplace with a bigger kitchen, a second full bedroom, and nice bathroom. And ideally we wanted enough room to bring home a snugly bundle of joy...NO not that, a dog.
In any event, we seemed to agree on a townhouse, figuring it was a nice step between apartments and an actual house. So that made our hunt even more difficult. As it turned out, there aren't alot of townhouses that are a.) available or b.) affordable. Not even including the difficulty in finding a place that would be a reasonable commute for both of us. It seemed as if we would be doomed. And then, one day Joe was scrolling through craigslist and out popped in his eyes a listing for a townhouse in Towson.
I became excited as he read off the description of the place. But then just as my heart leaped, and my hands went for moving boxes, he informed me of the price. My heart and hands dropped. It wasn't out of our price range, but let's just say it was the peak. We figured it wouldn't hurt to take a look, which we did this past Saturday.
As we were driving there, Joe kept going back and forth debating on whether he thought it was located in a safe spot, while I just sat there quietly calculating the money aspect. I figured, there's probably no way we will even like this place. I was right, we'd didn't like it at first sight, we LOVED it.
It's an end unit with a backyard that wraps around the front all the way to the back, complete with shady trees, and even a big picnic table that was staying. We saw all these things in the picture on the post, but seeing it in person was different. A small fence ran all the way around, enclosing it safely should we get our puppy. The entrance was covered in a charming V-shingled...thing. Joe was giddy and I was fairly impressed. I figured that these details alone would make it worth the money...so long as the other requirements were met...
The landlords took us in for a tour and we walked in to find hardwood floors throughout the living room and upstairs bedrooms. Awesome. Plus, since it was an end unit there were windows EVERYWHERE. Double Awesome. I really started to think it couldn't get any better, until we stepped into the kitchen. My smile quickly faded as I noticed the sparseness of the tiny kitchen. It had a fridge, oven and sink (plus some overheard storage) and that was about it. And none, zero, no counter space (one of the things I used to lament and scream to the heavens about was how little our current kitchen had in counter space). But for the Pros list, there was a door that lead from the kitchen down to the yard (complete with a doggy door!)
"Oh yeah, and there's no dishwasher either," the guy said. What? I've had a dishwasher my whole life, and I don't care if that makes me sound spoiled. It was something we had even in my girlfriends' and my first apartment. I tried to hide my disappointment.
However, I was back on happy street when they took us down to a good sized/semi finished basement with washer and dryer. Next we went up stairs and saw the one (grr...wanted at least another powder room so I could get ready while Joe was in the shower) bathroom. BUT it did have a window and allowed natural light in (def another point for the PRO list). BUT it also lacked counter space (point for the CONs).
Then we saw the second bedroom which was small but def big enough for guests (i didn't realize we'd have the basement so Joe could put all his recording crap down there and we could actually use this room for guests or even as an office for me). Then we saw the master, which was a good size with plenty of windows.
Joe was sold immediately, but I still reserved some doubts. We made up the list of pros and cons for real, and we quickly realized the pros outweighed the cons. It was a beautiful neighborhood, well kept and near bars, restaurants, the mall, etc.
Still I was hesitant, but when Joe asked me for real, if we didn't get it would I be disappointed, I thought of the yard, the windows, the hardwood, the doggy door, and realized I would be. It felt like home. It felt like our home.
So we filled out the applications and dropped them off, and bing bam boom, yesterday Joe got the call that we got it. I was thrilled.
But as for the other issues: kitchen, bathroom, counters, etc. That remains to be seen. At least, until we move in. But thats for another entry.
Yes, for those of you who didn't hear Joe and I have been rushing to find a place since we informed out apartment complex our plans to vacate about a month ago. Now, normally you'd wait to do this until you knew where you were going, but we (apparently) like to live on the wild-side. Go for the gamble, put it all on red, etc. And, unlike most of my bets, we came back on top.
The problem with our search criteria was how specific it was: Joe's in the city, I'm in Hunt Valley. We wanted someplace with a bigger kitchen, a second full bedroom, and nice bathroom. And ideally we wanted enough room to bring home a snugly bundle of joy...NO not that, a dog.
In any event, we seemed to agree on a townhouse, figuring it was a nice step between apartments and an actual house. So that made our hunt even more difficult. As it turned out, there aren't alot of townhouses that are a.) available or b.) affordable. Not even including the difficulty in finding a place that would be a reasonable commute for both of us. It seemed as if we would be doomed. And then, one day Joe was scrolling through craigslist and out popped in his eyes a listing for a townhouse in Towson.
I became excited as he read off the description of the place. But then just as my heart leaped, and my hands went for moving boxes, he informed me of the price. My heart and hands dropped. It wasn't out of our price range, but let's just say it was the peak. We figured it wouldn't hurt to take a look, which we did this past Saturday.
As we were driving there, Joe kept going back and forth debating on whether he thought it was located in a safe spot, while I just sat there quietly calculating the money aspect. I figured, there's probably no way we will even like this place. I was right, we'd didn't like it at first sight, we LOVED it.
It's an end unit with a backyard that wraps around the front all the way to the back, complete with shady trees, and even a big picnic table that was staying. We saw all these things in the picture on the post, but seeing it in person was different. A small fence ran all the way around, enclosing it safely should we get our puppy. The entrance was covered in a charming V-shingled...thing. Joe was giddy and I was fairly impressed. I figured that these details alone would make it worth the money...so long as the other requirements were met...
The landlords took us in for a tour and we walked in to find hardwood floors throughout the living room and upstairs bedrooms. Awesome. Plus, since it was an end unit there were windows EVERYWHERE. Double Awesome. I really started to think it couldn't get any better, until we stepped into the kitchen. My smile quickly faded as I noticed the sparseness of the tiny kitchen. It had a fridge, oven and sink (plus some overheard storage) and that was about it. And none, zero, no counter space (one of the things I used to lament and scream to the heavens about was how little our current kitchen had in counter space). But for the Pros list, there was a door that lead from the kitchen down to the yard (complete with a doggy door!)
"Oh yeah, and there's no dishwasher either," the guy said. What? I've had a dishwasher my whole life, and I don't care if that makes me sound spoiled. It was something we had even in my girlfriends' and my first apartment. I tried to hide my disappointment.
However, I was back on happy street when they took us down to a good sized/semi finished basement with washer and dryer. Next we went up stairs and saw the one (grr...wanted at least another powder room so I could get ready while Joe was in the shower) bathroom. BUT it did have a window and allowed natural light in (def another point for the PRO list). BUT it also lacked counter space (point for the CONs).
Then we saw the second bedroom which was small but def big enough for guests (i didn't realize we'd have the basement so Joe could put all his recording crap down there and we could actually use this room for guests or even as an office for me). Then we saw the master, which was a good size with plenty of windows.
Joe was sold immediately, but I still reserved some doubts. We made up the list of pros and cons for real, and we quickly realized the pros outweighed the cons. It was a beautiful neighborhood, well kept and near bars, restaurants, the mall, etc.
Still I was hesitant, but when Joe asked me for real, if we didn't get it would I be disappointed, I thought of the yard, the windows, the hardwood, the doggy door, and realized I would be. It felt like home. It felt like our home.
So we filled out the applications and dropped them off, and bing bam boom, yesterday Joe got the call that we got it. I was thrilled.
But as for the other issues: kitchen, bathroom, counters, etc. That remains to be seen. At least, until we move in. But thats for another entry.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Commie-cast
So Comcast (a.k.a. the bane of my existence) has finally caught on that I haven't paid the bill in two months, so they helped me out by just shutting our cable off. However, they also shut the Internet off too, so I am forced to use the Internet wherever possible and in short increments.
Therefore, until we get this straightened out, my posts are going to have be a bit shorter and probably not as deep or thought provoking (you saying, "were they ever?" doesn't help).
They gave me plenty of notice, but seeing as how I'm in this challenge thing (and besides the fact that this is now the 3rd or 4th time they've shut us down) it doesn't really phase me. Just inconvenient is all.
It also sorta sucks cuz Joe and I found this pretty sweet townhouse which we filled applications out for and they are probably running our credit as we speak. Something tells me a glaring red REJECTED stamp is in our immediate future.
But I swear Comcast is KNOWN for being extra-douchey. I once tried to pay the bill to get the Internet turned back on and when I called all I got was a lousy tape recorder telling me to, "easily pay your bill online at comcast.com". Really asses? How the hell am I supposed to do that? Spend $10 in coffee at Starbucks and then another whatever amount just to use their wifi? Or hoof it to the library just to wait on line for a computer to free up and then rush like Satan out of Hell before my time is up?
Another time I had to pay for it to be turned back I actually got someone on the phone. They cheerfully informed me that to do it over the phone would cost a "convenience fee" of $14.95. Doesn't that just kick you right in your pancreas? I asked, "really, a fee?" and they said, 'Well, it's free if you do it online." Somehow it seemed pointless to remind them that I was actually without Internet, (hence the reason I was calling).... it just would've made my head hurt. So what are you supposed to do? Im usually too lazy (hence the reason the bill got out of hand in the first place) to try and bicker or hang up only to get to this same point online elsewhere, so like a jack-ass I hand over my checking account info and pay the amount (plus the total b.s. so-called convenience fee).
I'd say I'd try another carrier, however I haven't heard any are remarkably better.
Anyway, now that I've gotten my rant out of the way, let's move on...
**Update**THE LIVING YEAR- Day 8
You know, it's days like this where it's particularly tough. In case you are not one of the few people that are reading this AND live in Baltimore, let me describe the weather: bleak. Warm, but bleak. There's a grayness out that makes me want to curl up on the couch and watch so many episodes of "Friends" or "American Pickers" my eye balls might burn out (a la "Raiders of the Lost Ark").
Plus it doesn't help that people are busy. Busy busy busy. I understand the need for extra work hours or previous commitments, even fatigue. But since I now have all this freed up time, I guess I figured the people around me would be free as well.
I don't mean to make this sound so "oh woe is me", but I guess that was always one of the reasons I clamped onto television so much. Those characters were my friends, my companions. Available at the drop of a hat, and with no work involved...merely flip it on and you're not alone anymore. Now that they are gone (combined with this depressing weather) I'm feeling the pangs of loneliness.
Again, I don't mean to sound so depressing, and really I understand that people have their lives to live too. It just goes to show how warped my brain was--to think all people hung out together from day in to day out in coffee houses or apartments. But it's not like that here in 3-D world.
I love my friends out here in the real world, I'd do anything for them. What i need is someone who is as pathetic as I am i think. Someone who is out there reading this and saying, YES! I want to mull over why life sucks at a dark dive bar sipping on whiskey instead of staring at a electronic box longing for companionship.
Are you out there friend? It's me, Marginally Depressed.
Oh well, maybe I just need a fish or hampster or something.
Wow, sorry this got so bleak, lol. I promise, laughs will ensue tomorrow!
Therefore, until we get this straightened out, my posts are going to have be a bit shorter and probably not as deep or thought provoking (you saying, "were they ever?" doesn't help).
They gave me plenty of notice, but seeing as how I'm in this challenge thing (and besides the fact that this is now the 3rd or 4th time they've shut us down) it doesn't really phase me. Just inconvenient is all.
It also sorta sucks cuz Joe and I found this pretty sweet townhouse which we filled applications out for and they are probably running our credit as we speak. Something tells me a glaring red REJECTED stamp is in our immediate future.
But I swear Comcast is KNOWN for being extra-douchey. I once tried to pay the bill to get the Internet turned back on and when I called all I got was a lousy tape recorder telling me to, "easily pay your bill online at comcast.com". Really asses? How the hell am I supposed to do that? Spend $10 in coffee at Starbucks and then another whatever amount just to use their wifi? Or hoof it to the library just to wait on line for a computer to free up and then rush like Satan out of Hell before my time is up?
Another time I had to pay for it to be turned back I actually got someone on the phone. They cheerfully informed me that to do it over the phone would cost a "convenience fee" of $14.95. Doesn't that just kick you right in your pancreas? I asked, "really, a fee?" and they said, 'Well, it's free if you do it online." Somehow it seemed pointless to remind them that I was actually without Internet, (hence the reason I was calling).... it just would've made my head hurt. So what are you supposed to do? Im usually too lazy (hence the reason the bill got out of hand in the first place) to try and bicker or hang up only to get to this same point online elsewhere, so like a jack-ass I hand over my checking account info and pay the amount (plus the total b.s. so-called convenience fee).
I'd say I'd try another carrier, however I haven't heard any are remarkably better.
Anyway, now that I've gotten my rant out of the way, let's move on...
**Update**THE LIVING YEAR- Day 8
You know, it's days like this where it's particularly tough. In case you are not one of the few people that are reading this AND live in Baltimore, let me describe the weather: bleak. Warm, but bleak. There's a grayness out that makes me want to curl up on the couch and watch so many episodes of "Friends" or "American Pickers" my eye balls might burn out (a la "Raiders of the Lost Ark").
Plus it doesn't help that people are busy. Busy busy busy. I understand the need for extra work hours or previous commitments, even fatigue. But since I now have all this freed up time, I guess I figured the people around me would be free as well.
I don't mean to make this sound so "oh woe is me", but I guess that was always one of the reasons I clamped onto television so much. Those characters were my friends, my companions. Available at the drop of a hat, and with no work involved...merely flip it on and you're not alone anymore. Now that they are gone (combined with this depressing weather) I'm feeling the pangs of loneliness.
Again, I don't mean to sound so depressing, and really I understand that people have their lives to live too. It just goes to show how warped my brain was--to think all people hung out together from day in to day out in coffee houses or apartments. But it's not like that here in 3-D world.
I love my friends out here in the real world, I'd do anything for them. What i need is someone who is as pathetic as I am i think. Someone who is out there reading this and saying, YES! I want to mull over why life sucks at a dark dive bar sipping on whiskey instead of staring at a electronic box longing for companionship.
Are you out there friend? It's me, Marginally Depressed.
Oh well, maybe I just need a fish or hampster or something.
Wow, sorry this got so bleak, lol. I promise, laughs will ensue tomorrow!
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Culture Club
My head is a little fuzzy right now, both from fatigue and the $7 beer I had at Brewer's Art this evening at our monthly book club. I know, me Ms. Cheapo, splurged on a something I couldn't get change from a $5 on. And wouldn't you assume that it would've tasted alot better than it did? I really wanted something cherry-flavored (since we read Chekhov's plays, including "The Cherry Orchard" and we usually like to either eat, drink, or be somewhere with a connection to what we read), and thought about a Sam Adams Cherry Wheat beer.
I know what you are thinking: gross, right? On the contrary, it's very nice. Light and sweet, it reminds me of a cherry-Coke, except it will give you a buzz. And surprisingly, for a place with all these beers from around the world, they did NOT carry it. Yeah, I can hear all you cultural people saying how I should embrace the flavors of the world. Well, unless they are gonna taste better for a better price, I'll stick with good ol' Sam (I can't help it, I'm American).
Anyway, like I mentioned, we met for our monthly (sometimes over) book club meeting. My friends Erica, Lauren, and I formed it almost two years ago as a way to catch up on reading we missed back in school, and yet always still wanted to read. From then on, we've switched back and forth between a classic novel to something modern. This month was the classic words of the playwright, Anton Chekhov.
Unfortunately, old habits die hard, and sometimes I have to admit I tend to get lazy and forgetful, neglecting our assigned reading until it's almost too late; this was one of those times. I usually order the book through the inter library loan system at our library so I didn't have to actually buy it (cuz God forbid I PAY for a book...as I mentioned before, I am a bit on the 'frugal' side), AND they can ship it right to the library in my town (oh yeah, I'm lazy too). But once again, I dropped the ball and just read what I could on Sparknotes (what, that counts!) in time for the meeting today.
After spending a good ten minutes in trying to parallel park (why is it that it looks SOO easy just to swing in and park head-in but then when you try to straighten out you look like a moron moving your car backwards and forwards? I swear the people in the gym facing me must've thought I was some sort of obsessive compulsive who couldn't let the car swing in and out less than 12 times otherwise the moon would collapse) Erica came out to see what was taking me so long. She finally suggested I just move to the space up a little further, which has, as she said, "Enough room for 3 cars" a.k.a. "No possible way you'd have to actually parallel park".
*NOTE: Quick side note- I'm getting extremely irritated right now b/c my freaking fingers are NOT hitting the correct keys at all. You are reading this actually ALOT quicker than I am typing it, which is bothering me. For God's sake, I'm ON a computer ALL DAY. Wtf fingers, I'm gonna give YOU the finger. Anyway, now back to the blog in progress...
We find out the original restaurant we want to go to is either not in business anymore, or has really odd hours, so instead we walk over to the Brewer's Art, one of those yuppie-hipster restaurants. When we are joined by our last member, Krysten, and all food and drinks are ordered, we settle in to discuss the book.
As is customary for these meetings, we usually spend anywhere from 20 to 45 min talking about the details of the book (sometimes, if it was particularly interesting we might gab about it for an hour, but that seems to rarely happen). Tonight we talked about the book for about 25 minutes and then, as usual, the conversation began to extend into other areas: our jobs, school, living situations, family, etc.
Somehow we got on the subject of radio, and NPR in particular. I mentioned how I'd like to start listening to that, and to my surprise, Erica and Krysten nodded knowingly. They began listing the specific shows that were either enjoyable or annoying to them, even knowing the exact show schedule for weekday and weekend programming. I suddenly felt like the guy who realized that putting something over your head kept you clear of the rain and who goes to tell others about it, only to find they have been doing it for years.
But as I listened to them discussing which hosts did what and what kind of shows they liked best, I had a sudden flashback to being in my parent's car when I was a preteen. Since they were driving they had control of the radio, and given the choice they ALWAYS opted for talk radio. I used to snidely remark at how boring and old they were to actually enjoy listening to talk radio. And yet, here I am, actually saying the words, "I'm getting sick of my music. I think I'd like to hear the show about horticulture."
I know people are probably getting sick of me constantly using aging as a theme or topic, but I think it's the curse of being human to be forever aware of getting older. And I guess because when I was a teenager I tended to not think about it because for the most part year after year stayed (mostly) the same. But now, I can't help but see and hear the changes I am making. Somehow it happened, right under my nose and I didn't even feel it. Somehow, somewhere along the line, I became an adult.
**Update**THE LIVING YEAR: Day 7 (1 Week)
Well, it's been an official week since I gave up television. Not too much else to report. I finished one book already (and kinda sifted through a crappy magazine). I think I'll keep a running tally on how many books and magazines I go through this year, just to see how much reading one can possibly do. Erica made a good suggestion as to possibly picking up additional hobbies to help pass the time and reduce my urge for television. Listening to NPR will help (allowing me to hear talking but actually learning something from it as well), and I am going to try writing some ideas I've had tossed around in my head for years (maybe I'll add them here from time to time just to get other people's opinions on them.)
The hobbies idea is good, but other than oil painting and knitting, I can't seem to think of any other good hobbies, so I'm waiting to take suggestions. Remember, with your help, we can keep ONE girl from burning her brain out by watching television.
I know what you are thinking: gross, right? On the contrary, it's very nice. Light and sweet, it reminds me of a cherry-Coke, except it will give you a buzz. And surprisingly, for a place with all these beers from around the world, they did NOT carry it. Yeah, I can hear all you cultural people saying how I should embrace the flavors of the world. Well, unless they are gonna taste better for a better price, I'll stick with good ol' Sam (I can't help it, I'm American).
Anyway, like I mentioned, we met for our monthly (sometimes over) book club meeting. My friends Erica, Lauren, and I formed it almost two years ago as a way to catch up on reading we missed back in school, and yet always still wanted to read. From then on, we've switched back and forth between a classic novel to something modern. This month was the classic words of the playwright, Anton Chekhov.
Unfortunately, old habits die hard, and sometimes I have to admit I tend to get lazy and forgetful, neglecting our assigned reading until it's almost too late; this was one of those times. I usually order the book through the inter library loan system at our library so I didn't have to actually buy it (cuz God forbid I PAY for a book...as I mentioned before, I am a bit on the 'frugal' side), AND they can ship it right to the library in my town (oh yeah, I'm lazy too). But once again, I dropped the ball and just read what I could on Sparknotes (what, that counts!) in time for the meeting today.
After spending a good ten minutes in trying to parallel park (why is it that it looks SOO easy just to swing in and park head-in but then when you try to straighten out you look like a moron moving your car backwards and forwards? I swear the people in the gym facing me must've thought I was some sort of obsessive compulsive who couldn't let the car swing in and out less than 12 times otherwise the moon would collapse) Erica came out to see what was taking me so long. She finally suggested I just move to the space up a little further, which has, as she said, "Enough room for 3 cars" a.k.a. "No possible way you'd have to actually parallel park".
*NOTE: Quick side note- I'm getting extremely irritated right now b/c my freaking fingers are NOT hitting the correct keys at all. You are reading this actually ALOT quicker than I am typing it, which is bothering me. For God's sake, I'm ON a computer ALL DAY. Wtf fingers, I'm gonna give YOU the finger. Anyway, now back to the blog in progress...
We find out the original restaurant we want to go to is either not in business anymore, or has really odd hours, so instead we walk over to the Brewer's Art, one of those yuppie-hipster restaurants. When we are joined by our last member, Krysten, and all food and drinks are ordered, we settle in to discuss the book.
As is customary for these meetings, we usually spend anywhere from 20 to 45 min talking about the details of the book (sometimes, if it was particularly interesting we might gab about it for an hour, but that seems to rarely happen). Tonight we talked about the book for about 25 minutes and then, as usual, the conversation began to extend into other areas: our jobs, school, living situations, family, etc.
Somehow we got on the subject of radio, and NPR in particular. I mentioned how I'd like to start listening to that, and to my surprise, Erica and Krysten nodded knowingly. They began listing the specific shows that were either enjoyable or annoying to them, even knowing the exact show schedule for weekday and weekend programming. I suddenly felt like the guy who realized that putting something over your head kept you clear of the rain and who goes to tell others about it, only to find they have been doing it for years.
But as I listened to them discussing which hosts did what and what kind of shows they liked best, I had a sudden flashback to being in my parent's car when I was a preteen. Since they were driving they had control of the radio, and given the choice they ALWAYS opted for talk radio. I used to snidely remark at how boring and old they were to actually enjoy listening to talk radio. And yet, here I am, actually saying the words, "I'm getting sick of my music. I think I'd like to hear the show about horticulture."
I know people are probably getting sick of me constantly using aging as a theme or topic, but I think it's the curse of being human to be forever aware of getting older. And I guess because when I was a teenager I tended to not think about it because for the most part year after year stayed (mostly) the same. But now, I can't help but see and hear the changes I am making. Somehow it happened, right under my nose and I didn't even feel it. Somehow, somewhere along the line, I became an adult.
**Update**THE LIVING YEAR: Day 7 (1 Week)
Well, it's been an official week since I gave up television. Not too much else to report. I finished one book already (and kinda sifted through a crappy magazine). I think I'll keep a running tally on how many books and magazines I go through this year, just to see how much reading one can possibly do. Erica made a good suggestion as to possibly picking up additional hobbies to help pass the time and reduce my urge for television. Listening to NPR will help (allowing me to hear talking but actually learning something from it as well), and I am going to try writing some ideas I've had tossed around in my head for years (maybe I'll add them here from time to time just to get other people's opinions on them.)
The hobbies idea is good, but other than oil painting and knitting, I can't seem to think of any other good hobbies, so I'm waiting to take suggestions. Remember, with your help, we can keep ONE girl from burning her brain out by watching television.
Monday, June 14, 2010
The Living Year: Day 6
tv tv tv tv tv tv tv tv....
Ok, so it's not THAT bad yet, but I think I'm finally hitting the point of television withdrawal. I hear the shows in my head still- Chandler's quips, Seinfeld's smarm, Rose's naivety. And when I'm not thinking about that I am thinking about EVERYTHING. I can not believe how much talking in my head I have done in the past 6 days, and I can't even tell if I always did that or if it's just because my mind is no longer shut off with the tv on.
Seriously, my mind will not stop going and going, and it's not even for any deep introspection really. It's as if my mind has become it's own dramatist, recalling detail after detail of the actions surrounding me. For example in my mind I would be saying: 'Kris reaches into the refrigerator and grasps that last can of Diet Coke. She winces as the tab tugs hard on her nail, causing it to bend backwards.' 'Joe meanders into the kitchen, singing in a high-pitched mocking tone of some song as he looks for a snack.' 'As Kris peers out the window near her cubicle she notices the blackening clouds approaching and waits hopefully for the spark of lightning.'
It seems as if everything I am doing or noticing is being recorded for a book or play. And I think the reason is because I've reverted back to reading as much as I can, which is making me think constantly in terms of prose. It means I'm either going nuts or I simply can not exist without some sort of story going on (or maybe both).
I did get close last night to reaching for the remote though. You would think that my ingrained daily routine of turning the television on would be cause me to break, but actually, that's not my desperate hour. The time when it is really going to be tough is as night, as I learned while trying to sleep.
Now, I don't feel ashamed to admit that I am 26 years old and still afraid of the dark. Ever since I was a kid I could remember being freaked out by total darkness, so much that I'd sometimes force my eyes open just so I could stay on constant watch, should someone (or something...?) try to sneak up on me. It wasn't enough having my sister sleeping in the bed across the room, knowing I wasn't alone. For some reason I still always believed whatever was coming was coming for me, and my sister would be no help.
My parents tried to help me find solutions. It wasn't enough just trying to remind me that there was no one there, all it would take would be a creak in the house or the wind howling and my eyes would pop back open. So they gave me a radio to listen to. Unfortunately, the radio kept my sister awake so my parents gave me headphones instead. While that did work for some time I found that either I'd have to often change the station (this was during the time all that Ace of Base, Real McCoy techno-crap was popular- not exactly lullabies) or be subjected to the top hits of Spanish radio.
Finally, since we had a tv in the room, my parents showed me how to operate the sleep timer on it. This is yet another piece to my television addiction puzzle. From then on, I relied heavily on this method. It allowed me the company of the light and sound until I fell asleep and then the tv would go off, no longer disturbing my sister. I used to do this ever since, until now.
Last night started off fine. I had been reading and that (combined with our wonderful day at the Great Grapes Wine Fest with our buddies Heather and Dylan-my 6th FOLLOWER!) was enough to make me tired. Joe settled in next to me and I clicked the lamp off. As I was trying to get comfortable I kept tossing and turning, kicking one leg here, pushing my arm there, trying to find both the warm and cool spots on the mattress. The longer it seemed to take me to fall asleep, the more aware I became of the darkness in the room. Now granted, I have been sleeping in this same bedroom for the past two years AND my boyfriend was right beside me. Yet I still couldn't help being keenly aware of the darkness and shadows around me. And that's when I realized; it's not just the dark that freaks me out, but its the empty sound. When it's too quiet, all I keep expecting is a loud noise. I try to not focus on anything, let the sounds all blend together, yet the more I try to mute everything it seems the louder the smallest sounds become.
I was trying like hell to turn my mind (which also enjoys fucking with me at nighttime) and ears off, racing to be asleep before my fears set in. And then I heard it. A distinctly odd sound. My eyes shot open again. It freaked me out so much I almost considered tapping Joe to wake him. And then I felt for the remote. I almost had it completely in my grip when I let it drop back to the carpet. No, I'm not going out, not yet, not now.
And then I pulled out my ace in the hole, my lucky sleeping charm: Peter Pan. Allow me to explain....You ever see the cartoon Disney version of Peter Pan, and in particular, the scene when he has Tinker Bell sprinkle the kids with fairy dust and they fly to Neverland? When I was a kid, that scene was my mantra. I used to visualize that scene over and over again, until it chased my fear away. I guess I liked its' message: think happy thoughts and you
ll get to fly. I even used to go so far as to leave my slippers and robe by my bed JUST IN CASE the story was true and Peter Pan ever stopped by (afterall I wanted to be prepared).
So there I was, all 26 years of me, visualizing that scene for the umpteenth time, and honestly, that's the last thing I remembered before I finally passed out. Not only did I manage to salvage a few hours of sleep, but I managed to avoid breaking my oath.
But I can tell you, it's gonna get difficult. I can only imagine my urge right now the size of a pea, sitting right in the pit of my stomach. I believe that as the days pass, this little pea is gonna start to grow. I just have to get through this withdrawal, and get to the other side. Wish me luck another day!
Ok, so it's not THAT bad yet, but I think I'm finally hitting the point of television withdrawal. I hear the shows in my head still- Chandler's quips, Seinfeld's smarm, Rose's naivety. And when I'm not thinking about that I am thinking about EVERYTHING. I can not believe how much talking in my head I have done in the past 6 days, and I can't even tell if I always did that or if it's just because my mind is no longer shut off with the tv on.
Seriously, my mind will not stop going and going, and it's not even for any deep introspection really. It's as if my mind has become it's own dramatist, recalling detail after detail of the actions surrounding me. For example in my mind I would be saying: 'Kris reaches into the refrigerator and grasps that last can of Diet Coke. She winces as the tab tugs hard on her nail, causing it to bend backwards.' 'Joe meanders into the kitchen, singing in a high-pitched mocking tone of some song as he looks for a snack.' 'As Kris peers out the window near her cubicle she notices the blackening clouds approaching and waits hopefully for the spark of lightning.'
It seems as if everything I am doing or noticing is being recorded for a book or play. And I think the reason is because I've reverted back to reading as much as I can, which is making me think constantly in terms of prose. It means I'm either going nuts or I simply can not exist without some sort of story going on (or maybe both).
I did get close last night to reaching for the remote though. You would think that my ingrained daily routine of turning the television on would be cause me to break, but actually, that's not my desperate hour. The time when it is really going to be tough is as night, as I learned while trying to sleep.
Now, I don't feel ashamed to admit that I am 26 years old and still afraid of the dark. Ever since I was a kid I could remember being freaked out by total darkness, so much that I'd sometimes force my eyes open just so I could stay on constant watch, should someone (or something...?) try to sneak up on me. It wasn't enough having my sister sleeping in the bed across the room, knowing I wasn't alone. For some reason I still always believed whatever was coming was coming for me, and my sister would be no help.
My parents tried to help me find solutions. It wasn't enough just trying to remind me that there was no one there, all it would take would be a creak in the house or the wind howling and my eyes would pop back open. So they gave me a radio to listen to. Unfortunately, the radio kept my sister awake so my parents gave me headphones instead. While that did work for some time I found that either I'd have to often change the station (this was during the time all that Ace of Base, Real McCoy techno-crap was popular- not exactly lullabies) or be subjected to the top hits of Spanish radio.
Finally, since we had a tv in the room, my parents showed me how to operate the sleep timer on it. This is yet another piece to my television addiction puzzle. From then on, I relied heavily on this method. It allowed me the company of the light and sound until I fell asleep and then the tv would go off, no longer disturbing my sister. I used to do this ever since, until now.
Last night started off fine. I had been reading and that (combined with our wonderful day at the Great Grapes Wine Fest with our buddies Heather and Dylan-my 6th FOLLOWER!) was enough to make me tired. Joe settled in next to me and I clicked the lamp off. As I was trying to get comfortable I kept tossing and turning, kicking one leg here, pushing my arm there, trying to find both the warm and cool spots on the mattress. The longer it seemed to take me to fall asleep, the more aware I became of the darkness in the room. Now granted, I have been sleeping in this same bedroom for the past two years AND my boyfriend was right beside me. Yet I still couldn't help being keenly aware of the darkness and shadows around me. And that's when I realized; it's not just the dark that freaks me out, but its the empty sound. When it's too quiet, all I keep expecting is a loud noise. I try to not focus on anything, let the sounds all blend together, yet the more I try to mute everything it seems the louder the smallest sounds become.
I was trying like hell to turn my mind (which also enjoys fucking with me at nighttime) and ears off, racing to be asleep before my fears set in. And then I heard it. A distinctly odd sound. My eyes shot open again. It freaked me out so much I almost considered tapping Joe to wake him. And then I felt for the remote. I almost had it completely in my grip when I let it drop back to the carpet. No, I'm not going out, not yet, not now.
And then I pulled out my ace in the hole, my lucky sleeping charm: Peter Pan. Allow me to explain....You ever see the cartoon Disney version of Peter Pan, and in particular, the scene when he has Tinker Bell sprinkle the kids with fairy dust and they fly to Neverland? When I was a kid, that scene was my mantra. I used to visualize that scene over and over again, until it chased my fear away. I guess I liked its' message: think happy thoughts and you
ll get to fly. I even used to go so far as to leave my slippers and robe by my bed JUST IN CASE the story was true and Peter Pan ever stopped by (afterall I wanted to be prepared).
So there I was, all 26 years of me, visualizing that scene for the umpteenth time, and honestly, that's the last thing I remembered before I finally passed out. Not only did I manage to salvage a few hours of sleep, but I managed to avoid breaking my oath.
But I can tell you, it's gonna get difficult. I can only imagine my urge right now the size of a pea, sitting right in the pit of my stomach. I believe that as the days pass, this little pea is gonna start to grow. I just have to get through this withdrawal, and get to the other side. Wish me luck another day!
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Crushin' on Crustacean (cont.)/ Day 1
Sorry about my abrupt ending. Joe insisted I stop typing and go right to bed (and seeing as how it was getting kinda late I felt I had no choice...but in any case, we now bring you the conclusion of "Crushin' on Crustacean")
On the Jersey shore, especially in the summertime, it is pretty common to order steamed clams (or "steamers" as they are called). I remember when I first arrived here in Baltimore and locals kept talking about "picking crabs" and "crab feasts". I figured the feast-thing out (just assuming it means eating ALOT of crab) but picking? Was it such a special thing to pick out what crabs to eat and which to leave behind? I was then schooled that it meant picking the meat out. When I finally did have the chance to engage in this Marylander tradition I immediately saw why people enjoyed it so. Not just because the crab meat is so good; it's really not even about that. It's about people coming together at a big picnic table, breaking nails (and sometimes skin) to get the precious morsels out, and all with plenty of beer and laughs. It's casual, messy, and summery--my kind of fun.
But anyway, back to the lobster: To kick off my birthday Joe suggested we check out the Reef Grille, a local place nearby that we've wanted to try for a while. When we got there we found out that the special for the night was whole lobster with two sides for $15.95. We were led to our table and as we chatted and sipped cocktails we noticed how every table around us was being delivered a cherry-red whole lobster. And sure enough the wheels in my brain began to turn. The waiter came around and asked if we were ready to order entrees. I was really curious about the lobster, but uncertain at the same time. Most of my experience with them was when they were already in pieces. How the hell did you even eat one of those things?
I asked the waiter what he suggested, a thing I'm actually starting to get into a habit of doing (chances are, if they like it--and are surrounded by it all the time--it should be good).
"Honestly, I would go for the crab cake or the lobster. The lobster is really phenomenal," he said.
"Oh, wow, and they do look really good. I'm just not sure how to go about eating one," I said, sheepishly.
"I tell you what. I'll crack it for you in the right place and make it easy for you," he said smiling.
And with that I handed him the menu and sealed my fate. We waited a little while longer and finally they brought out Joe's pasta and my big lobster. He had cracked it, but I still struggled a bit. But as I started getting my fingers in and nabbed a piece here and there, it really began reminding me of the way one picks crabs. I took a sliver of meat, dipped in the butter, and suddenly....I was in heaven. It was incredibly rich, but my GOD was it good. I was cracking every claw, sucking down piece after piece. I almost completely neglected my sides of potatoes and broccoli. I FINALLY tasted what my parents had fallen in love so many years ago.
Sure, my arteries will probably clog alot sooner than I had hoped, but it will be well worth it. It may be the first time I REALLY tasted lobster, but I don't intend on it being the last.
***UPDATE: TV CHALLENGE 2010
Well, here I am, 26 years old and 2 days less of being mentally accosted by television. As you, my wonderful readers, already know, I have sworn off t.v. for a year. And as I hoped, I AM already starting to notice different things.
For one, I am amazed at how absolutely unnecessary all that tv was. I always used to give in to the compulsion. I would come home from work, put my purse and keys down, take off my shoes, pick up the remote and turn on the t.v. For the past 2 years that was my routine, everyday. I never cared what was on, I'd always find something tolerable, but the tv was on. It gave me company, like a friend who talks and talks and talks about nothing really important but you enjoy the sound of whatever they're talking about.
Mealtimes were the same thing. Anytime I was home and I had either made something or brought home take-out, I would sit at the table and flip the tv on. I would watch while I was eating, then sit for a few minutes, and then finally settle on the couch for the next 6 hours. Sitting, laying, feet up, watching, watching, watching.
But now...it really feels like I have an opening. Not an emptiness, but as if I had a clog for so long and now its finally been cleared.
I have time. I NEVER had time. I lived and breathed by the idiot box. I would time when to hit the bathroom or the fridge perfectly between commercial breaks. It's surreal, but I'm not hating it...yet.
Anyway, I began yesterday (which, granted, was an easy day). We both came home from work and between trying to figure out where to go for dinner and what to do for my birthday, it was easy to ignore the t.v. Today really felt like the real thing.
I came home from work. Joe was still out on the film set and I knew he wouldn't be home for hours. Here we go. The important thing was just to not make it a big deal in my head. I busied myself with all the things I wanted to do tonight, simply walking by the big black elephant in the room.
I was starving so I made myself a frozen Smart Ones and sat at the table. Silence. I won't lie, it was probably the first time I really noticed that the tv wasn't on, and I started to get a little antsy. But as I ate, I flipped through a flyer from the mail, and before I knew it I was done eating. I stood up, took my plate to the sink, and went into the bedroom to start reading. It hit me as I laid down: eating doesn't take me 45 mins, it took me prob less than 10. And yet I used to sit at that table for so long. I used to think eating without the tv on would be awful, because it took so long to eat. But it doesn't take long to eat, it takes long to remove my ass from the chair. I'd sit there, a prisoner of my own laziness and habits.
Though some may disagree, the best way I can compare this experience so far is like a person quitting smoking. It's really not the actual thing you are missing, it's the habit of doing it. Like how people always have a mug of coffee or beer in one hand, their cigarette is always in their other. TV went with everything: after work, before dinner, cooking dinner, after dinner, before bed, weekends, rainy days, lazy days, sick days, days off, etc.
People I've been telling keep suggesting that I just cut back instead of cutting cold turkey. I think few people realize just how many negative things were caused by my incessant watching. It made me late, it made me lazy, it made me boring, it made me read less and write hardly ever.
I know I'll probably stumble (I'm human and we live in an entertainment obsessed culture), but if for anything I've got to try this for myself. As long as I can.
And besides, I've only got 362 more days to go....right?
On the Jersey shore, especially in the summertime, it is pretty common to order steamed clams (or "steamers" as they are called). I remember when I first arrived here in Baltimore and locals kept talking about "picking crabs" and "crab feasts". I figured the feast-thing out (just assuming it means eating ALOT of crab) but picking? Was it such a special thing to pick out what crabs to eat and which to leave behind? I was then schooled that it meant picking the meat out. When I finally did have the chance to engage in this Marylander tradition I immediately saw why people enjoyed it so. Not just because the crab meat is so good; it's really not even about that. It's about people coming together at a big picnic table, breaking nails (and sometimes skin) to get the precious morsels out, and all with plenty of beer and laughs. It's casual, messy, and summery--my kind of fun.
But anyway, back to the lobster: To kick off my birthday Joe suggested we check out the Reef Grille, a local place nearby that we've wanted to try for a while. When we got there we found out that the special for the night was whole lobster with two sides for $15.95. We were led to our table and as we chatted and sipped cocktails we noticed how every table around us was being delivered a cherry-red whole lobster. And sure enough the wheels in my brain began to turn. The waiter came around and asked if we were ready to order entrees. I was really curious about the lobster, but uncertain at the same time. Most of my experience with them was when they were already in pieces. How the hell did you even eat one of those things?
I asked the waiter what he suggested, a thing I'm actually starting to get into a habit of doing (chances are, if they like it--and are surrounded by it all the time--it should be good).
"Honestly, I would go for the crab cake or the lobster. The lobster is really phenomenal," he said.
"Oh, wow, and they do look really good. I'm just not sure how to go about eating one," I said, sheepishly.
"I tell you what. I'll crack it for you in the right place and make it easy for you," he said smiling.
And with that I handed him the menu and sealed my fate. We waited a little while longer and finally they brought out Joe's pasta and my big lobster. He had cracked it, but I still struggled a bit. But as I started getting my fingers in and nabbed a piece here and there, it really began reminding me of the way one picks crabs. I took a sliver of meat, dipped in the butter, and suddenly....I was in heaven. It was incredibly rich, but my GOD was it good. I was cracking every claw, sucking down piece after piece. I almost completely neglected my sides of potatoes and broccoli. I FINALLY tasted what my parents had fallen in love so many years ago.
Sure, my arteries will probably clog alot sooner than I had hoped, but it will be well worth it. It may be the first time I REALLY tasted lobster, but I don't intend on it being the last.
***UPDATE: TV CHALLENGE 2010
Well, here I am, 26 years old and 2 days less of being mentally accosted by television. As you, my wonderful readers, already know, I have sworn off t.v. for a year. And as I hoped, I AM already starting to notice different things.
For one, I am amazed at how absolutely unnecessary all that tv was. I always used to give in to the compulsion. I would come home from work, put my purse and keys down, take off my shoes, pick up the remote and turn on the t.v. For the past 2 years that was my routine, everyday. I never cared what was on, I'd always find something tolerable, but the tv was on. It gave me company, like a friend who talks and talks and talks about nothing really important but you enjoy the sound of whatever they're talking about.
Mealtimes were the same thing. Anytime I was home and I had either made something or brought home take-out, I would sit at the table and flip the tv on. I would watch while I was eating, then sit for a few minutes, and then finally settle on the couch for the next 6 hours. Sitting, laying, feet up, watching, watching, watching.
But now...it really feels like I have an opening. Not an emptiness, but as if I had a clog for so long and now its finally been cleared.
I have time. I NEVER had time. I lived and breathed by the idiot box. I would time when to hit the bathroom or the fridge perfectly between commercial breaks. It's surreal, but I'm not hating it...yet.
Anyway, I began yesterday (which, granted, was an easy day). We both came home from work and between trying to figure out where to go for dinner and what to do for my birthday, it was easy to ignore the t.v. Today really felt like the real thing.
I came home from work. Joe was still out on the film set and I knew he wouldn't be home for hours. Here we go. The important thing was just to not make it a big deal in my head. I busied myself with all the things I wanted to do tonight, simply walking by the big black elephant in the room.
I was starving so I made myself a frozen Smart Ones and sat at the table. Silence. I won't lie, it was probably the first time I really noticed that the tv wasn't on, and I started to get a little antsy. But as I ate, I flipped through a flyer from the mail, and before I knew it I was done eating. I stood up, took my plate to the sink, and went into the bedroom to start reading. It hit me as I laid down: eating doesn't take me 45 mins, it took me prob less than 10. And yet I used to sit at that table for so long. I used to think eating without the tv on would be awful, because it took so long to eat. But it doesn't take long to eat, it takes long to remove my ass from the chair. I'd sit there, a prisoner of my own laziness and habits.
Though some may disagree, the best way I can compare this experience so far is like a person quitting smoking. It's really not the actual thing you are missing, it's the habit of doing it. Like how people always have a mug of coffee or beer in one hand, their cigarette is always in their other. TV went with everything: after work, before dinner, cooking dinner, after dinner, before bed, weekends, rainy days, lazy days, sick days, days off, etc.
People I've been telling keep suggesting that I just cut back instead of cutting cold turkey. I think few people realize just how many negative things were caused by my incessant watching. It made me late, it made me lazy, it made me boring, it made me read less and write hardly ever.
I know I'll probably stumble (I'm human and we live in an entertainment obsessed culture), but if for anything I've got to try this for myself. As long as I can.
And besides, I've only got 362 more days to go....right?
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Crushin' on Crustacean
The towel on my head is pulling my hair (and skull) out, so I think this might be a brief one tonite kids.
And truthishly (spoken like Gillian from "Family Guy"- this one line has been cracking me up for weeks now) I kinda have no idea what I'm gonna write about, so I'm just gonna let the thoughts flow where they will, so bear with me.
You ever eat lobster? My experiences with this horribly ugly yet wonderfully decadent crustacean are pretty limited. I remember once when I was pretty young my parents had my aunt and uncle over for dinner and they were eating some. Even back then I had always heard lobster being referred to like food of the gods--and had a price tag to match. I had walked into the kitchen and my mom asked me if I wanted to try some. Curious as to what I could be missing out on I accepted the small buttery morsel off her fork. I closed my eyes, waiting for the bright lights and mystical forces to apprehend me because I was eating something so special.
Much to my dismay, I was disappointed. There didn't seem to be anything special about it. It tasted just like cold slippery butter. I didn't hate it, but being such a connoseaur of the finer things (or as much as I could be as a preteen), I was less than impressed.
The next time I tried it was while on a family expedition to Maine in the summer. We as kids were looking forward to the new scenery, new beach, and new clothes (at the massive outlets). Our parents, on the other hand, couldn't wait to get their hands on that lobster. So again, after the adults had had their fill we were allowed to sample the leftovers. And again, I didn't get the big hooplah.
After a while I kinda gave up on lobster. I either checked it off as something I simply didn't like or just didn't have a palate for. In the meantime, I decided to try shrimp (another food that my whole family seems to go crazy for). I went from disliking shrimp--mainly due to its texture--to slowly actually craving it. It's like when you try something for the first time and you don't realize you even like it till weeks later and you can't stop thinking about it.
Once I felt my love of shrimp was well solidified, and I figured my tastes had finally evolved, I decided the next opportunity I had to try lobster, I would do so. Problem is, like I said, that opportunities are rare and expensive. So I moved onto crabs for a while.
It always interests me that even two areas like New Jersey and Maryland (which hardly seem significantly different) could have different food traditions....
well, it's my birthday...i'm out...to be continued....
And truthishly (spoken like Gillian from "Family Guy"- this one line has been cracking me up for weeks now) I kinda have no idea what I'm gonna write about, so I'm just gonna let the thoughts flow where they will, so bear with me.
You ever eat lobster? My experiences with this horribly ugly yet wonderfully decadent crustacean are pretty limited. I remember once when I was pretty young my parents had my aunt and uncle over for dinner and they were eating some. Even back then I had always heard lobster being referred to like food of the gods--and had a price tag to match. I had walked into the kitchen and my mom asked me if I wanted to try some. Curious as to what I could be missing out on I accepted the small buttery morsel off her fork. I closed my eyes, waiting for the bright lights and mystical forces to apprehend me because I was eating something so special.
Much to my dismay, I was disappointed. There didn't seem to be anything special about it. It tasted just like cold slippery butter. I didn't hate it, but being such a connoseaur of the finer things (or as much as I could be as a preteen), I was less than impressed.
The next time I tried it was while on a family expedition to Maine in the summer. We as kids were looking forward to the new scenery, new beach, and new clothes (at the massive outlets). Our parents, on the other hand, couldn't wait to get their hands on that lobster. So again, after the adults had had their fill we were allowed to sample the leftovers. And again, I didn't get the big hooplah.
After a while I kinda gave up on lobster. I either checked it off as something I simply didn't like or just didn't have a palate for. In the meantime, I decided to try shrimp (another food that my whole family seems to go crazy for). I went from disliking shrimp--mainly due to its texture--to slowly actually craving it. It's like when you try something for the first time and you don't realize you even like it till weeks later and you can't stop thinking about it.
Once I felt my love of shrimp was well solidified, and I figured my tastes had finally evolved, I decided the next opportunity I had to try lobster, I would do so. Problem is, like I said, that opportunities are rare and expensive. So I moved onto crabs for a while.
It always interests me that even two areas like New Jersey and Maryland (which hardly seem significantly different) could have different food traditions....
well, it's my birthday...i'm out...to be continued....
Monday, June 7, 2010
The Living Year
Some people quit cigarettes. Others stop drinking. As anyone who has known me for a long time knows my addiction of choice is television. I have been battling this disease for years now, and let me tell you...it is debilitating. It also shocks me that in this day and age of passing the blame and medications and group therapies, I have yet to hear of a television watching support group. Probably because there's no funding because there's no way to advertise, unless you put it on t.v...but then that defeats the whole point doesn't it?
But the time for me to turn off is nigh. And I intend to do so for....wait for it...a whole year. Yes, yes I can hear your gasps as you sit in your cubicles or on your beds reading this. Be calm, my readers, for like Frodo joining Gandalf on the lovely giant Goonies Pirate Ship (in probably the 3rd or 4th ending that Peter Jackson couldn't seem to make his mind up for), the time has come.
Why, you make ask, would I finally choose now to quit? Several reasons...
1.) I walked to my car the other night and I didn't realize till I was sitting inside and looked over at my passenger seat that I had grabbed the remote control to my t.v. I had actually walked out of the house still clutching it, like a colostomy bag. Sad.
2.) A few weeks ago while Joe's sister and her husband were visiting she asked me a specific question about a "Friends" episode. She said she was pulling out all her DVDs to figure it out, but in a matter of seconds I was able to pinpoint the episode she was talking about. Because I had seen the episode over and over and over again. (And I never was even a "Friends" fan, it was just another show to eat up time before the next one). Sadder.
3.) As a kid, while some were learning the Gettysburg address, I was able to recite, word for word, the entire Children's International commercial. You remember the one? Was about 4 or 5 minutes long with the guy holding up the little girl pleading for people to sponsor a child for less than the cost of a bagel a day? At the time I considered it quite the accomplishment. Saddest.
But maybe the final straw came when Joe became the second boyfriend of mine to tell me that I watch way too much, and so the challenge was set.
I know alot of people may say that a year seems impossible. It could be. I'm not ashamed to say I fear failure. But I figure sometimes it's good to challenge yourself, even when the odds seem insurmountable.
So here are the parameters:
A.) No television watching.
B.) Movies are allowed, so long as they are DVDs or going to an actual venue.
C.) Computers are allowed, so long as I'm not watching shows on them.
D.) Radio is allowed.
E.) Books are allowed.
There are some gray areas that I have yet to decide upon (such as watching shows on DVDs). And so any input or advice would be greatly appreciated. Also, since I myself am a bit of a gambler, I will also accept bids on how long I will ACTUALLY last. Might actually help to urge me on.
And yes, I realize avoiding television in the warmer months is a bit of a no-brainer, since there are usually lots of things going on outdoors (and most shows have gone on hiatus). The real test is going to be when I am stuck inside of hours on end in the winter. I have a feeling I'll end up looking like Mr. Burns or Homer when they get stuck in the cabin in the woods- demented and bilious.
Will I last? I dunno, honestly. I'm interested in finding out if anything changes in me: will I be on time more? Will I contribute more to a conversation than just giving a play-by-play of what happened on "Millionaire Matchmaker"? Will I be smarter?
Only one way to find out. The challenge starts on Wednesday....or Thursday, depending on what shows are on.
But the time for me to turn off is nigh. And I intend to do so for....wait for it...a whole year. Yes, yes I can hear your gasps as you sit in your cubicles or on your beds reading this. Be calm, my readers, for like Frodo joining Gandalf on the lovely giant Goonies Pirate Ship (in probably the 3rd or 4th ending that Peter Jackson couldn't seem to make his mind up for), the time has come.
Why, you make ask, would I finally choose now to quit? Several reasons...
1.) I walked to my car the other night and I didn't realize till I was sitting inside and looked over at my passenger seat that I had grabbed the remote control to my t.v. I had actually walked out of the house still clutching it, like a colostomy bag. Sad.
2.) A few weeks ago while Joe's sister and her husband were visiting she asked me a specific question about a "Friends" episode. She said she was pulling out all her DVDs to figure it out, but in a matter of seconds I was able to pinpoint the episode she was talking about. Because I had seen the episode over and over and over again. (And I never was even a "Friends" fan, it was just another show to eat up time before the next one). Sadder.
3.) As a kid, while some were learning the Gettysburg address, I was able to recite, word for word, the entire Children's International commercial. You remember the one? Was about 4 or 5 minutes long with the guy holding up the little girl pleading for people to sponsor a child for less than the cost of a bagel a day? At the time I considered it quite the accomplishment. Saddest.
But maybe the final straw came when Joe became the second boyfriend of mine to tell me that I watch way too much, and so the challenge was set.
I know alot of people may say that a year seems impossible. It could be. I'm not ashamed to say I fear failure. But I figure sometimes it's good to challenge yourself, even when the odds seem insurmountable.
So here are the parameters:
A.) No television watching.
B.) Movies are allowed, so long as they are DVDs or going to an actual venue.
C.) Computers are allowed, so long as I'm not watching shows on them.
D.) Radio is allowed.
E.) Books are allowed.
There are some gray areas that I have yet to decide upon (such as watching shows on DVDs). And so any input or advice would be greatly appreciated. Also, since I myself am a bit of a gambler, I will also accept bids on how long I will ACTUALLY last. Might actually help to urge me on.
And yes, I realize avoiding television in the warmer months is a bit of a no-brainer, since there are usually lots of things going on outdoors (and most shows have gone on hiatus). The real test is going to be when I am stuck inside of hours on end in the winter. I have a feeling I'll end up looking like Mr. Burns or Homer when they get stuck in the cabin in the woods- demented and bilious.
Will I last? I dunno, honestly. I'm interested in finding out if anything changes in me: will I be on time more? Will I contribute more to a conversation than just giving a play-by-play of what happened on "Millionaire Matchmaker"? Will I be smarter?
Only one way to find out. The challenge starts on Wednesday....or Thursday, depending on what shows are on.
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