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!
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