DC Diary_ How I (Almost) Went to GWAR

Wednesday night, I almost went to see the speed metal band GWAR at the famed 9:30 Club on V Street in Washington, DC. It was something I considered as compensation for the fact that I would not be able to see the Russian-emigre punk band Gogol Bordello, a band I am actually familiar with and adore.

As for GWAR, I still don't know that much about them. On the Internet, they have been described as 'a Power Rangers cover band' and ' Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles on LSD' because of their over-the-top costumes which look like they came from the set of a "Hellraiser" sequel.

Their music is also quite distinctive as one can gahter by simply glancing at their song titles: "Bring Back the Bomb" (1994), "Sick of You" (2009) and "Meat Sandwich" (1998). Though they apparently have a conventional side, since they have covered Alice Cooper's vintage anthem "School's Out" (which I found on vinyl today!).

According to Wikipedia, GWAR has made songs which focus on both socially and politically taboo themes, and since they have made fun of both Al Gore and Sarah Palin, they seem to have no particular political agenda.

Amazingly enough, the band formed in the conservative city of Richmond, Va., which is about four hours east of my hometown of Roanoke, Va., in 1984. They are still going strong after 25 years of existence and their new release "Bloody Pit of Horror" is being sold on their web site for $9.99.

One person who was at the show last night at the 9:30 Club said: "'Expletive' bloody good show in DC last night....," which has to make the band feel good since a concert they were supposed to give over the weekend in Vermont was canceled due to heavy snow.

As for Gogol Bordello, they perform at Terminal 5 in New York. Like their DC shows, I would expect the show for the increasingly popular group is already a sell-out.

But, one can go half-way around the world and see them perform at The Barby Club in Tel Aviv, Israel, for two shows on Feb. 28 and March 1. Of course, an El Al Airlines official might think you are insane for flying to Tel Aviv just to see Gogol Bordello.

As for me, I opted not to go to GWAR, but instead, I saw the new Jim Carrey movie "I Love you Philip Morris," which has nothing to do with tobacco executives in Winston-Salem, NC, (the film is ironically now playing at the Apeture Cinema in Camel City as well), which was an ok flick. I was curious to see the film, which is also reportedly playing in Istanbul, Turkey, at the moment because it has been released in much of the world except here in America even though it's an American film. Surprisingly enough, according to NPR, it was a big hit in Estonia.

On the way back from the E-Street Cinema, I somehow managed to get lost on the way back to the place where we were staying. The reason for this was because I had written down the address for the 9:30 Club in my pocket along with the place where we were staying. I was talking obliviously to V Street when I realized something was wrong.

Thankfully, an Indian or Pakistani taxi driver found me and bailed me out. Amazingly enough, I had walked right by 'the correct address' without even realizing it. A Christmas tree-of all things- had thrown me off.

SIDEBAR: Like many of you, I am staying at home tonight on New Year's Eve, mainly due to fatigue though these blog entries I've been posting have caused me to neglect The Marx Brothers marathon on TCM tonight (I think I'll pick it up with "Duck Soup" at 12:30 a.m.). But, some folks are having fun tonight even in zip codes where one might not expect much to be going on.

Such was the case in the industrial city of Wheeling, W.Va., tonight where the hometown minor-league hockey team the Wheeling Nailers defeated the visiting Gwinnet Gladiators from the Atlanta suburb of Gwinnet, Ga., by a 4-1 margin. Of course, residents of that town who are Gogol Bordello fans will probably have to wait for the band to play in Pittsburgh, and then they will have to drive two hours to see them!

Intentions

I am not really a holiday person. I don't have a favorite holiday, I don't really look forward to any particular one, and I don't get terribly excited about them. I always feel there is something forced about a holiday, a combined sense of obligation and expectation that mask whatever its initial intention was. But I'm also not a non-holiday person. I don't refuse to celebrate, nor do I get upset about any given holiday taking place. Mostly, I try to find something I can appreciate about each occasion and I go with the flow.

On New Year's Eve, I appreciate the opportunity to set an intention for a new year. I can set an intention on any given day, of course, but the fact that this one is supposed to count for a whole year- perhaps forever- gives it a different power. No matter how many times a goal may not have been met in the past, there's always a refreshed hope that maybe this time it will work. After all, we have been strengthened by another year- we are not the same people we were in the previous new year's eve- this could very well be the year when we do take up tap dancing, when we do learn Italian, when we do save enough money to go to Ireland, when we do eat more carrots, and when we do get around to reading Anna Karenina.

So I sit here, on the 31st of December, wondering what could be my intention for 2011. There are always the familiar dilemmas. Is it more important to think about acquiring a flat stomach or to stop obsessing over my body image? Neither has ever been a very realistic goal, so is this the year when I give up on both of them? Do I want to think about getting a reliable job or do I want to keep dreaming? Should I redefine my career expectations or should I feed my persistent fantasies? Do those things really matter, anyway? Maybe I should just go for "good health" and "peace on earth" and leave it at that.

I breathe deeply. I need to listen to my higher Self, I need to listen to my heart.

What do I really want?

As soon as my mind quiets down, I hear a response. The answer surprises me. It is clear and specific, and it comes to me in a very, very strong voice.

I want to be free of expectations without losing sight of what I am meant to be in this life.

Well. All right. That will be my intention for this new year.

I wish everyone a wonderful 2011, may we all listen to our inner voices and make room for what we really want.

DC Diary_ Welcome to Kandahar Province

We are continuing our look at a hectic Day Two of our family DC trip (see "The Daily Vampire" for additional misadventures) with a look at some of the more unusual things that occured on Tuesday.

After visiting a staggering three Smithsonian in one day, we stopped by the Freer Gallery where we saw an art exhibit from avant garde Dutch artist Fiona Tan, which included a video came up of black and white Japanese schoolgirls from the 1960s, as well as a glance into the life of a Turkish immigrant shopkeeper in Amsterdam.

While visiting the gift shop of the gallery, which included many expected things like a cd from Indian sitar master Ravi Shankar, I noticed much to my immediate shock that there was a Lonely Planet Guidebook to.......Afghanistan?!

Of course, like everyone from Dubai to Anchorage, I was wondering what kind of insane lunatic would risk their lives for a frivilous travel adventure, and this coming from someone who went to Baku, Azerbaijan, in 2008!

After doing some web research, I did indeed confirm what everyone knew: there is a State Department advisory against travel to Afghanistan, hmmm....perhaps a war, the resurgence of the Taliban and armed warlords has something to do with that. Additionally, Wikitravel states that one should: Be aware of snakes and insects in Afghanistan, especially scorpions!

But, The Lonely Planet's tourguide for Afghanistan's web site says there are three places which are worth seeing presuming there is a ceasefire in the country for the day. These include the scared sites of Mazar e-Sharif, the caves of Samagan and the ruins of Bamiyan.

Additionally, I found much to my shock that there is an English pub in Kabul called Hare and Hounds (hmmm...I don't think that would be a good place to meet single women, irregradless if they are wearing a burqa or no burqa) and a German restaurant called Deutsche Hof. And, lastly, there is an outdoor cinema in Kabul called the Aina Media Centre where I expect "Brokeback Mountain," "Porky's" and "Debbie Does Dallas" never played.

One can also fly into Kabul from Frankfurt, Istanbul or Dubai, but your travel agent in Toledo, Ohio, might not be sure what to make of your mental state if you tell him your iteniary.

The Cutest Boy in Town

I had just turned 14. It was the end of July, and I was going to spend a few days in Quata, my mom's hometown, with my family. I took my friend Anna along, since she was about to move to Sweden and we wanted to spend as much time together as possible. For city girls, one would think Quata would be incredibly boring. It was a small town built around a church, surrounded by farm lands. There was only one main avenue, where everyone hung out. There were no movie theatres, no malls, no parks, no clubs. But, perhaps most importantly, it was not dangerous like a big city, and one didn't need cars to get around, so we found ourselves independent in a way that was completely intoxicating for two teenage girls.

I had cousins who spent their vacation time there as well, and a group of friends I saw only during these trips, whom I stayed in touch with through letters. We were happy to be reunited there, in that tiny town where nothing ever happened, a couple of times throughout the year.
We went out every night and sat on the benches in front of the church, to chat and play games and flirt; the rush of freedom keeping us warm through that miserably cold July.

One night, a really handsome young man walked by and said hi to us. We giggled, unable to reply, and he kept on walking. My cousin told me he was the cutest boy in the town. He didn't live there anymore, as he was already in college, and he only came back during the holidays. All the girls wanted to kiss him, she assured me. I agreed that he was incredibly good looking, and decided that if he said anything to us again, I'd reply.

The following night, we dressed up a little bit. We sat on the same bench we'd sat on the night before, the one closest to the street corner, in full view. As we had hoped, he walked by again, said hi, and I said hi back. My cousin elbowed me in the ribs- I had broken a rule. Respectable girls didn't talk to strange boys, no matter how cute they were, in that small old-fashioned town. But I couldn't help myself, there was a storm inside me, a hurricane of thoughts and wants and desires that bubbled up and crushed my good girl mask mercilessly. I asked him if he'd like to sit with us. My friends were as mortified as they were excited when he smiled and sat down next to me. He told me his name- a name that would find itself scribbled all over my journals and notebooks for years to come- and I told him mine, which he immediately said was a beautiful name.

I don't remember our conversations. I think we talked about Anna being from Sweden and I think I asked him about college life (he was 21, mind you). The hours went by, and when we all said good night, he held my hand and said he hoped to see me tomorrow. My heart skipped right up to my face, which didn't know yet how to hide how happy I was that this boy, this super cute college boy, was paying attention to me. When we got home, Anna and I analyzed every possible scenario for the following evening. It was very possible that he would kiss me. I had been kissed before, but it was clear that he had more experience than I did in that department. Focused entirely on how I could hide my innocence and youth, I completely forgot to devise a plan that was mindful of keeping everything a secret from my mother. A few months earlier, she had nearly killed me when she saw a hickey on my neck, so I knew that if she saw me kissing a strange (much older) boy in public (in that little town no less), I would face disastrous consequences. But I was 14. I had the confidence and courage that inexperience provides, plus screaming hormones. I was certain I could get away with it.

The next night, after brushing my teeth eleven times, packing gum and lip gloss in my pockets, we headed out. We sat on the same bench so that he would surely find us- I didn't think to find a hidden bench somewhere, to take precautions so as not to be seen should he indeed kiss me that night. He found us, as planned, sat next to me, and once again we talked about things that didn't matter. And then, at some point, rather unexpectedly, he kissed me. My friends kept on talking and goofing around while we sat at the edge of our bench, making out. Even though he was older, it was pure adolescent bliss. We did nothing but kiss and compliment each other. Why did it feel so good? How could it all be so perfect? I didn't know. I didn't want it to end. I wanted to remember all of his details, I wanted to memorize his face, I wanted to remember what kissing him felt like for as long as I lived.

I didn't get caught that night. We went home, my cousin and Anna wanting to know everything- even though they had been sitting right next to us the whole time- and inspecting me for hickeys or any sign that I might have been kissed that night. I was on the clear. I had kissed a boy, an older boy, in public, and gotten away with it. I was as delirious as a child caught in a fantasy world, imagining what it might be like if we started dating, how I'd tell my friends at school that I had a boyfriend who was in college and lived in another town, and, more than anything, hoping that we would see each other the following night and kiss again.

We did. We were completely wrapped up in each other, my friends deeply entertained with their own conversations, when my mother walked by. My cousin elbowed me. But it was too late. My mother had seen it all. She didn't say anything. She just walked home. Everyone stood around me, frozen. They knew my mother was strict and that I had just done something monstrously wrong in her eyes. I didn't know what to do. For a moment, I considered never going home again. My partner-in-crime was scared that she'd come beat him up too. There was nothing to do. I had to go home and face my mother. Trembling, I walked home.

I was met with a beast. My mother was beyond furious. Anna went to our room and I sat in the kitchen with my mother. (A word to teenagers in trouble- don't pick the kitchen as the spot to get yelled at, there are weapons of all kinds in there). As I apologized over and over again, she screamed at me at the top of her lungs. She said I was not the daughter she had raised, and that she was ashamed of me. I was sent to bed after many hours of being reprimanded for my actions, which I didn't know how to justify or explain yet.

The holiday ended, we went back to the city, and life went on. I was left with the memory of those perfect kisses from that older boy, and my relationship with my mother was strained for years. Holidays came and went, the years passed and, eventually, he- and the fantasy I had attached to him- faded. I started to forget the details I had tried so hard to memorize. With time, he became a distant memory.

A few days ago, I was in my mom's hometown again. It is still where we go to celebrate Christmas. The ghosts of the past are always looming there and I am constantly distracted by my memories. I see my friends and I laughing around the ice-cream shop, I see my younger cousins and I playing by the pool, I see my mother and I going to visit her aunt in an old house, and so on.

This time, I was met with a great sadness as I walked by the church and saw that the benches around it had been removed. The bench that held my 14-year-old self's fantasies and fears was gone. I had never considered that someone might touch that memory, that anyone could have the power to remove the place where it lived. I walked away, unable to fully accept the impermanence of life's most precious moments.

I wondered, then, what might have happened to that young man. Might he have known, when he kissed a 14-year-old girl, that he was imprinting himself on her still unguarded heart? Was I just part of a collection of holiday flings? I laughed at myself for having these thoughts. I shook my head, realizing that if he walked by me now I wouldn't recognize him.

I have, after all, forgotten that face. The face of the cutest boy in town.

DC Diary- I Ate a Whole Anchovy Pizza

Well, we were going to give our crew a long-needed and well-deserved vacation, but then I listened to a Newt Gingrich speech on C-SPAN and decided "Bah Humbug! These guys need to earn their $3.22 an hour."

We haven't run into the former house speaker here in Washington, DC, today, but there have been plenty of things to write about.

I've decided it's perhaps best to have a day of reflection, so I will focus on yesterday which was our first official day in the nation's capital.

Along with my mom, my sister Eva and her husband Sven from Goteborg, Sweden, we went out to dinner at Red Rocks, a Nepalese pizzaeira in DC, and after looking over the menu items carefully, I decided to make the most radical culinary decision I made since I ate goat kebab in Denizli, Turkey, some 25 years ago.

I decided to order an 11-inch anchovy pizza! My feeling was: "You know, I am on vacation, and this is one of the few times I've been able to get out of Virginia and North Carolina all year (I live between the two states), so why not get an anchovy pizza?"

It was surprisingly delicious. The pizza also had several cheeses and peppers. And, I drank it down with some tangy pineapple juice.

But, anyone who has gobbled up an entire 11-inch pizza, irregardless of topping choices, should know full well that he or she will pay the consequences for it later that night. Sure enough, I was stuffed and I felt like a walking Sumo wrestler as we walked back to our hotel in Bethesda, Md. (forgive the DC humor which may not go over well to our readers in Tajikistan!).

Incidentally, I saw a guidebook for the remote former Soviet Republic of Tajikistan today, but that's enough for tonight's entry.... I need to go watch some "Sanford and Son" reruns on TV Land, a network I don't get at home!

Things We Learned on Twitter- Greensboro Coffee Shop Closes for the Day

Today, we learned on Twitter that Greensboro Coffee, a coffee joint on State Street in Greensboro, NC, is closing for the day due to flooding from snow that grazed through the Gate City over the weekend. Here was their statement regarding the matter:

"Greensboro Coffee announces it's closing for the day because of flooding issues. We will have to close for the day. We will have it all cleaned up and be open on Tuesday at 7 a.m. Enjoy your snow."

The store's special features include a White Chocolate Frapp.

The image above is from the comic book "Too Much Coffee Man" by Shannon Wheeler, a Facebook friend of mine, that was an underground hit in the 1990s. Wheeler now lives in Portland, Oregon, at last report and his comic book was actually turned into an opera!

Quote of the Week- Pablo Picasso

You know an artist is a legend when he or she has two major exhibitions going on in two totally different parts of the globe simultaneously. And, that is the case for the late Spanish artist Pablo Picasso (1881-1973) who was the first artist I had ever heard of as a child (saw his name in a kid's book, textbook or magazine, I think). Currently, one can see his paintings at either the Kunsthaus in Zurich, Switzerland, until Jan. 30 or the Ben Brown Fine Arts Center in Hong Kong (China), until Jan. 28.

Here is the quote which folks at Project Plase, a homeless organization in Baltimore, Md., would definitely disagree with, especially since there could a ton of snow in Maryland starting tomorrow. But, though we disagree with Picasso's sentiment here- unless someone wants to bring their cousin Charles Manson home for Thanksgiving, it is certainly amusing:

"Is there anything more dangerous than sympathetic understanding?"

Ransom Letter Cards!

No, you don't need to ask for any money and an abduction doesn't need to take place to make these cards!

 (These look so much better in person and with better lighting!) 

Time:  Around 15 minutes (It just takes a little while to find the letters)
Materials:

• Scissors
• Old magazine that can be cut up
• Glue (Stick or bottled, it doesn't matter!)
• A piece of ribbon or rick rack (Or any type of embellishment you like!) 
• Card stock or any piece of paper

Directions: 

1. Fold over the paper in any way you please and cut it in half if you like!

2.  Cut out the letters from a magazine for your message and glue them down (I'd recommend a glue stick for this.) 

3. Cut a piece of ribbon or rick rack that can go across the card and glue it down (liquid glue might be easier for this part.) 

4. Now send your creation off on it's merry way to it's grateful recipient! 

Collages!

Easy to make, great looking... and slightly time consuming... one of my favorite art projects... collages!

Time: This is varied based on how big you make your collage and what type of glue you use
Materials:

• Some sort of canvas or other surface.  (I used canvases with a wood frame on back)
• Paint (Optional but recommended-for painting surface before adding stuff)
• Old magazines that can be cut up (Depends on how big your collage is going to be, but I recommend NOT using TIME or other really thin magazines)
• Paint brushes (for glue or paint) 
• Decoupage glue or some other type (I actually used Zip guard with a satin urethane wood finish... it actually turned out really nice; we were out of glue) 
• Newspaper or something to put under your project
• Scissors ( I recommend a nice, sharp pair for closer edges)

Directions: 

1. If you are going to paint the canvas, do it now so it can dry while you cut. It looks better to have a colorful back round poking through than just white.
2. It's time to C-U-T! Go crazy! I'd recommend cutting out A LOT of pictures now, so when it's time to glue, you can just focus on gluing and not cutting.  In my opinion, for people, animals, objects, etc., it looks better if you cut them out exactly. 
3. Get ready... set... GLUE! If you're using Decoupage glue, be careful because it's hard to move or lift up a picture after it's soaked in the decoupage. *TIP* Start gluing at the top of the canvas and work your way down. 
4. Just brush on your final layers of glue, let it dry, and wallah! Time to dispaly and let the compliments come! 

Here's how I hung my collages in my bedroom: 

Don't mind the poreclian dolls or the cheesy comforter over the futon...

*There's a link for decoupage glue recipe above*

Toilet Paper Roll Wall Art!

See those flowers? Can you guess what store I bought them at? If you guessed Costco, you're correct! 

No, I'm pretty sure Costco doesn't sell wall art like that, but they do sell toilet paper!

NOTE: This project is NOT hard at all! Unless you cannot use scissors or glue; then you'll have a problem... 

To make flowers like the ones above...

Estimated time: Approx. 45- 60 mins, depending on glue, paint, design, and speed you're working at. (REMEMBER: IT COULD TAKE MUCH LONGER THAN THIS THOUGH!)

Materials: 

• 4 toilet paper tubes
• Scissors
•  Paints (spray paint or whatever paint you feel like using will most likely work. I used some basic acrylics) 
• Paint brushes
• Hot glue gun OR white glue 
• Paper clips (IF using white glue)
• Marking tool (Yes a pen or pencil is fine!)

Directions:

1. Measure out 1/2 increments on the TP tubes and mark it. (You can make your sections as thick as you want, but I would recommend using pieces around this width.) I made two marks on opposite sides of the tubes, then I flattened the tube and cut on the marks. FYI, I used 10 petals for each flower. 

Just pretend this is an actual TP tube and not just a rolled up, flattened, sticky note... you get the picture.

     2.  If you are hand painting, now is the time to do so! If you're spraying it, skip this step for now! 

     3.  After the petals are all dry (if you hand painted them), now is the time to arrange them! Go crazy! If you follow my materials and instructions, arrange them in a flower, but here's a picture for inspiration from Design Sponge:

(For this I'd use many more tubes and spray paint it!) 

    4. Once you're happy with your design, glue for it (Hahaha go for it... glue for it... get it?). Anyway... if you're using white glue, use the paper clips to hold the wet pieces together while they dry. If you're hot gluing it, you don't need to.

   5.  *FOR SPRAY PAINTERS ONLY* Now is the time to paint! Go outside or in a well ventilated area and.... you know the drill... hopefully.

  

  6. Last but not least, display and e-n-j-o-y! 

Silly Photo to Fill Space- Che Guevara Plush Toy

A few weeks ago, I put the Che Guevara plush toy, which would probably more popular in San Francisco than Provo, Utah, on a mock Christmas gift list. I actually saw the item at a novelty shop in Greensboro, NC, along with similar plush toys for artist Frida Kahlo and scientist Albert Einstein.

Most of the plush toys retail for $16.95, and other figures that The Little Thinkers produce include Jesus Christ, Charlie Chaplin, William Shakespeare and Sigmund Freud.

I did not get the Che Guevara plush toy this year, but next Christmas is just around the corner, right?! Perhaps, there will be a socialist revolution by then (well, it couldn't be any worse than the Tea Party movement!)

Merry Christmas from Simon and Garfunkel

Yes, we know it is a bit ironic to feature a Merry Christmas from Simon and Garfunkel, as they are Jewish guys. But, singer Paul Simon has actually just released a holiday song called "Getting Ready for Christmas Day," which is available for free downloads.

Simon's web site says that the song will also be on the singer's next studio release "So Beautiful or So What" this spring.

As for Art Garfunkel, who also had a successful acting career in the late '60s and early '70s, has released "The Very Best of Art Garfunkel" this year.

I have two funny stories involving the musical duo, that peaked from 1964-70. The first is that I found Simon and Garfunkel's "Bookends" (1968) with a poster in it (the album featured "A Hazy Shade of Winter," covered in 1986 by The Bangles). I found this gem for a mere quarter at a Salvation Army Thrift Store in Pittsburg, Kansas, in the summer of 1986 when I was 16. And, of course, now it is nowhere to be found!

The second is that my mom, a part-time antique dealer, found an autograph of Art Garfunkel (without Paul Simon). She sold it for eight dollars at the Super Flea Market in Greensboro, NC, some two years ago- much to my surprise!

While researching this, we found out through "The Morning Sun," the newspaper for Pittsburg, Kan., that the town is hosting a lighting luminary for the holidays. And, the next Super Flea in Greensboro will be held from Jan. 29-30, 2011.

50 Beers from Around the World (#42 Pillsner Urgell from Czech Rep.)

Today we feature the very popular brew Pillsner Urgell from the Czech Republic, which is widely available in America. The brew is the original pillsner brand, which has spread all over the world to include the likes of the Turkish beer Efes Pilsen and the Mexican beer Pacifico.

Pillsner Urgell started in Pilsen (in Bohemia), and it is now also brewed in Poland and Russia. The beer has a heavier body, but it has less alcohol than most American beers.

According to the web site czechbeerguide.com, one of the best bars in Prague, the Czech capital, is U Flecku.

Here is les etats unis, if one is in Dallas, Tex., The Libertine Bar, which has Tempura Asparagus for $8, is open tomorrow. We are not sure at what point!

Top 10 Favorite Christmas Movies_ A Controversial Choice

Yes, we are choosing the eight-minute $700 short film "The Spirit of Christmas" from 1995 by Trey Parker and Matt Stone, two Colorado college students who went on to make "South Park" as our top choice.

The film is known for it is essentially a mock kung fu fight between Jesus and Santa Claus which is laced with profanity, and makes fun of former Olympic ice skater Brian Boitano.

But, this short film which I saw as part of "Spike and Mike's Sick and Twisted Animation Festival" at the Lyric Theatre in Blacksburg, Va., still stands out as one of the most hysterical things I've ever seen. Ironically, I haven't watched "South Park" hardly at all since it's second season. I am amazed it is somehow still on the air (we need to get Javier, our Honduran intern to fact-check that).

Here is our top ten; the rest of the films are full-length features:

1. "The Spirit of Christmas" (1995)

2. "A Christmas Story" (1983)

3. "National Lampoon's Christmas" (1989)

4. "Gremlins" (1984)_ A film I chose to show for my 40th birthday celebration earlier this year at the Grandin Theatre in Roanoke, Va. Many people forget that it takes place at Christmas time.

5. "Bad Santa" (2003)

6. "It's a Wonderful Life" (1946)_ A film which may be the only Christmas film they show in Tashkent, Uzbekistan

7. "The Muppet Christmas Carol" (1992)

8. "Scrooged" (1988)

9. "Miracle on 34th Street" (1946)

10. "Santa Claus Conquers the Martians" (1964)_ Yes, the movie itself which features a very young Pia Zadora does actually suck, but the title is still vintage!

We should mention that John Waters has said that his favorite Christmas movie is "Christmas Evil," also known as "You Better Watch Out." The 1981 horror film predates the much more known and decidedly infamous 1984 slasher flick "Silent Night, Deadly Night" which features a Santa Claus who goes around killing folks.

Currently, American audiences are intrigued by the film "Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale" out of Finland which depicts a Santa Claus who is found frozen in the Arctic Circle. It is currently showing at the following cinemas (not listing every cinema where it's playing, but the film is not showing everywhere): Carousel Luxury Cinemas in Greensboro, NC, Landmark E Street Cinemas in Washington DC, Kendall Square Cinema in Cambridge, Mass. and lastly, Lyric Cinema Cafe in Fort Collins, Colo.

Happy Birthday Mom, from Clint Eastwood

I wanted to wish my mom a Happy Birthday, and since we had a similar post with Dolly Parton on our other blog "The Daily Vampire," I thought I'd post a similar 'greeting' from another pinball icon Clint Eastwood.

Pinball machines with the famous Eastwood cinematic detective Dirty Harry (which originated with the 1971 film of the same name) were quite the rage some 25 years ago.

I saw one such machine at a restaurant in the hamlet of New Castle, Va., many years ago. They apparently go for between $2,000-2,300 on the Internet.

The film itself was the subject of considerable controversy. The late film critic Pauline Kael accused it of being a right-wing fascist exploitation piece which Eastwood has denied, citing that the film's director Don Siegel was liberal.

Interestingly enough, we learned from reading a Peter Biskind piece in his book "Gods and Monsters" that Kael also criticized the classic 1953 left-wing film "Salt of the Earth" about labor rights abuses for being mere Marxist propaganda.

Happy Birthday, mom, and thanks for getting me a Slinky for Christmas back in 1976 (when I was six years old). Alas, it is nowhere to be found today!

Things We Learned on Twitter Tonight- Raquel Loves Sade's Music

Here is an actual celebrity tweet from Raquel Welch, who is amazingly enough the same age as my mom!:

"Listening to Sade while I wrap presents. Better than XMas carols."

We agree there!

Sade is a Nigerian-Brit pop soul singer who is best-known for her mid-80s hit "Smooth Operator."

The Year of Healing and Blogging

I am back to the place where, a year ago, I began this blog. I came to Brazil at the end of last year to recover and heal. My heart had been broken, twice over, in that past year, and I was in pieces. I had just gone through my first semester out of school, ever, and it had been traumatically difficult to adjust. I had not acted in months, I did not have a job, and I did not see any future for my acting career. My soul was famished. I was sick of New York, sick of winter, sick of myself, and sick of pain. I came home to my parent's house in Sao Paulo and did not know if I would return to New York.

On the day that I arrived, I started going to an acting workshop. Even though the class was nothing extraordinary, I was thrilled to be among actors, and I felt life moving through me again. I was at my parent's home, eating fresh food and being taken care of. My mind, cluttered with negativity and sadness, had the space to calm down.

Being at home in such a vulnerable state led to an overflow of memories and nostalgia, which in turn gave me an appreciation for what I've been through, what I've survived, and who I am now. In an effort to work through the jumble of past joys and traumas, I started this blog. It seemed like a small thing to do, sharing some personal things in a public forum, but it provided me with an analytical narrative of my own life, which otherwise existed only in the pages of countless diaries. Sitting in my childhood room was a nest of inspiration and the blog posts seemed to happen involuntarily, almost effortlessly. I saw the time-line of my life, I wrote about it, and I started to heal.

Some people wrote to me to tell me they were reading my blog, and that they really appreciated it, which fueled me to keep it going. I made friends and reconnected with long lost friends because of the blog. I suddenly had pen-pals and a new connection to fellow bloggers. My world was growing.

Two months later, with a strengthened soul, body, and heart, I returned to New York. It greeted me with its brutal February winter and stubborn sameness. There was no acting career waiting for me when I walked into my apartment. The men who had hurt me still had the power to affect me. My surroundings were no different than I had left them, but I was changed. Things were not suddenly easier, but I carried with me the invaluable realization that I was not easily defeated.

This past year hasn't been easy either, but I have to acknowledge my achievements and growth. I acted in four plays. Although I hungered for more, those were all undeniably fulfilling experiences in their own way. One of them was my very own production, a first of its kind, and it was a big success. I discovered that in addition to acting, I also love directing and producing. I found a job where I got to write, and even though I was mostly miserable in it, I learned a lot about myself. My heart recovered, I started dating again, and I met someone really special. He has filled me with warmth, and I'm smiling again.

Here I am now, at the end of another year, and I am still recovering and healing. There are still reasons to doubt that dreams can come true and that love is always worth the risk. My body is still complaining, my heart hesitant, and my soul searching for its life force.

But that, I have started to accept, is life. Dreaming, wanting, hoping, falling, breaking, healing, standing, fighting, believing, doubting, knowing, searching, and, when I get chance, just being. That's the muck that makes the masterpiece.

I look at this blog, a year later, and I see it for what it is:

This is my life. These are my stories, and I am lucky to have them.

Thank you to all who follow, and happy holidays, from a grateful Little Larissa.

Silly Photo to Fill Space- the Tom and Jerry Necktie

One of the items on my Christmas wish list that we published back on Dec. 5 was a Tom and Jerry necktie. We mentioned the same time several months ago when we quipped that a guy can know he's in trouble on a first date if the girl asks: "Which one is the mouse?"

For those of you in Tashkent, Uzbekistan, who were born when Bill Clinton (another saxophone player) was president, Jerry is the mouse (did we really need to say that?! Yes, we probably did).

The Tom and Jerry necktie retails for circa $15 on most online sites, like zazzle.com

An interesting historical note about the characters is that a new incarnation of "Tom and Jerry" appeared on a series with Grape Ape (who looks like a purple King Kong with a baseball cap) cartoons in 1975.

The producers who perhaps later went on to advise George W. Bush (forgive the center-left political humor, kids! and Newt Gingrich if you are reading this) thought it would be a idea to make Tom and Jerry friends instead of the bitter rivals they had been for four decades before. By doing this, they thus ruined the basic plot premise that drove the storyline. A familiar gag that worked as well for kids in Dubai as it did kids in Topeka. And, of course, the new 'toons flopped.

Actually, a Grape Ape lunchbox would be a nifty item to have as well, but there are folks starving on the streets, especially in Detroit (read a depressing, but well-written article in "Mother Jones" about that), so wanting such things seem pointless and trivial.

You can probably find the Tom and Jerry cheaper than $15 if you look hard enough:)

Quote of the Week- Frida Kahlo

Since we are featuring quotes from famous artists this month, we thought we'd share a quip from the late Mexican painter Frida Kahlo (1907-1954) whose life was the subject of the acclaimed film "Frida."

An exhbit of Kahlo's work was shown in Berlin, Germany, earlier this year. And, one of the most popular restaurants in Guatemala is Frida's, located in Antigua, Guatemala's second largest city behind the capital Guatemala City. It is talked about on the web site virtualtourist.com and according to one Internet comment the palce has very good quesadillas.

Closer to home, there will be an exhibit of photographs of Kahlo by photographer Nickolas Muray at the Brownsville Museum of Fine Art in Brownsville, Tex., from Jan. 15-March 19, 2011. And, there is a Mexican restaurant in Chicago called La Cocina de Frida on North Clark Street.

Here is today's quote from Kahlo, which as a lone wolf person myself, I can sympathize and identify with:

"I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone, because I am the person I know best."

In Turkish, It's Called Tembellik

We could've looked up what's the Norwegian word for laziness too, but well we're too lazy!

The cat is in Japan (in the original image; this black cat might be from Mexico), well not my cat Gizmo, who is somewhere near Floyd, Va., but this cat in particular.

One knows laziness is very bad when you don't even want to post a blog entry!

But, for those of you with more stamina, we recommend "Garfield without Garfield," a satiric take on the comic strip with the World's Laziest Cat (and, the world's oldest cat as Garfield has been around for 32 years now!). The web site for that is garfieldwithoutgarfield.net

It's time to take a nap....!

It's Been a Messy Week

The weather may have actually been nice in Fargo, N.Dak., than it was in Greensboro, NC, yesterday. Snow, sleet, ice and freezing rain left much of Virginia and North Carolina in a mess in a storm which also went through parts of South Carolina, Tennessee, West Virginia and Maryland.

There were fatal highway accidents near Lexington, Va., and Fayetville, NC, which are about six hours away from each other.

As a result, we are behind with lots and lots of things, folks!

So, until things get back to normal, I highly recommend a Youtube video of my friend Bruce Piephoff singing "I Remember Asheville" or you can always settle for Ukrainian folk dancing or Hungarian klezmer clarinet music!

Quote of the Week- Salvador Dali

This quote of the week seems appropriate given that NPR did a story on narcissicism (ie. Me Syndrome) today in which apparently scientists and psychologists (or the other way around) or trying to determine if it is a psychological disorder of some sort. Wow, this tie is really awesome. Too bad you can't see it!

Our quip is from the iconic Spanish artist Salvador Dali:

"Each morning when I awake, I experience again a supreme joy---that of being Salvador Dali."

Dali was apparently a major influence on artist Jeff Koons, who some see as a Warholian genius and some see as a kitschy rip-off artists.

Of course, since this is not an art blog per se, and we don't judge people by their art but only their politics (insert Glenn Beck put down here), we will refrain from our views on Koons's works.

But, we can say that after wiki'ing him, we saw that one of his works, "Puppy," a 43-foot topiary sculpture in Bilboa, Spain, is quite towering.

Koons is also known for balloon animals, such as ones involving inflatable flowers. And, one of his pieces apparently sold at auction for over $5 million, which means that the artist is now presumably rich enough to buy his own work!

50 Beers Around the World #40- Guinness (Ireland)

Today's beer is one of the most popular exports here in les etats unis. Guinness Beer is also still the king of beers (oops, that is Budweiser's trademark, oh well!) in Ireland.

Guinness Beer was started by Arthur Guinness (1725-1803) in Dublin, accoding to Wikipedia. The info site also states that studies have shown that drinking Guinness is good for the heart. You may want to check with my fellow Turkish-American Dr. Oz before you head to the beer section of the Food Lion in Mount Airy, NC.

I must profess that if I had to share a beer with someone besides Uma Thurman, who would assuredly shun me as all gorgeous women seemingly do (nudge, nudge, wink, wink!), it would have to be Chevy Chase. As we stated in our last entry about the Turkish yogurt drink ayran, Chase once starred in a Turkish tv ad for Cola Turka, which people all over the globe can now see on Youtube, well with the exception of Pyongyang, North Korea, and Qom, Iran, perhaps.

Bonus Silly Photo to Fill Space- Ayran

Today, we feature ayran, the yogurt milk beverage that is very popular in my late father's country Turkey. An Istanbul taxi driver named Atilla Kalkan gave me the recipe back in 2008. Alas, efforts to find him on Facebook failed (though there are a lot of Atilla Kalkans out there!).

One can find ayran at Harmony Market in Cary, NC (Raleigh, Phone: 1-919-380-0077) along with other Turkish food items with the noteable exception of raki (the Turkish version of the greek spirit ouzo) as they do not have an ABC license.

For our friends in Georgia, ayran should be available at Bereket Turkish Grocery in Atlanta (phone: 770-613-9950), where one can also get a Cola Turka...a Turkish cola beverage which once featured commercials with Chevy Chase! (Yes, that is true).

One can not find ayran at Texas Tavern in my hometown of Roanoke, Va., though it can be found (if you ask) at Arzu International, which is also downtown. So, if you are inclined to have a cheesy western at Texas Tavern for breakfast (a scarmbled egg sandwich with a hamburger pattie and cheese, ask your doctor before eating!) and Izmir kofte (lamb dish which unlike cheesy westerns does NOT cause heart attacks) for lunch at Arzu then the Star City is the place to be!

NOTE: Ayran was one of the items listed on my Christmas wish list. Of course, this is ironic because Turkey is a Muslim country and I actually prefer Festivus over all religious holidays. The beverage can also be purchased online in the United States (and perhaps Canada) from tulumba.com in New York.

Year 5 in Room 14

In 2010 I was in Miss King's class in Room 14.

If you click this link here you will be able to see all my fabulous work.

Top 10 Favorite Songs from John Lennon

Since yesterday was the 30th anniversary of the murder of John Lennon, we thought it would be neat to list our ten favorite songs by him. The fact that our intern Javier from Honduras* is inept at remembering song titles made this a bit challenging, but I'd like to think we pulled it off.

We wonder if some of these songs are played on Oldies KVID in Russellville, Ark., but Javier had to arrange an interview with Olympic gymnast Shawn Johnson in her hometown of West Des Moines, Iowa, so he is not able to confirm that and we are too busy (or lazy) to fool with, really.

Amazingly enough, Yoko Ono--- of all people, follows us on Twitter (this true!). Ono herself chose "Oh My Love" as her favorite Lennon song for a 'lists' issue in "Rolling Stone."

*-Javier is not an actual person. The joke is that if something is factually wrong in the contents of this blog, we blame him! BTW, since he is fictional, he is not interviewing any Olympic gymnasts.

Here are our favorite Lennon tunes (either solo or with The Plastic Ono Band):

1. "Instant Karma"

2. "No. 9 Dream"

3. "Watching the Wheels"

4. "Imagine"

5. "Nobody Told Me"

6. "Jealous Guy"

7. "Woman is the N of the World"

8. "Oh Yoko"

9. "Mind Games"

10. "Cold Turkey"

The Really Bad Date

Inspired by reading the blog Simply Solo today, I'm sharing one of my really bad first date stories.

The Really Bad Date

He was an artist. When you're 20, you think that's hot. What it really means, you learn, is that he doesn't have a job, has at least one addiction, and lives in Brooklyn, off the G train. (If you don't know what that means, we call the G train the Ghost train, because it never shows up.)

But, in the spirit of adventure, I patiently waited 45 minutes for the G train on a hot, humid, New York summer evening. I had tried my best, as women do, to look pretty. It was our first date, but it wasn't a blind date; we had seen each other before at a party- in the dark, inebriated- so there wasn't too much suspense, though there was some self-imposed pressure to live up to whatever had drawn him to ask me out in the first place. I had tried on about 97 outfits before settling for a pink linen blouse and a flowy skirt. I was ready to have a great date.

When I got out of the subway, he was waiting for me. How sweet, I thought, forgetting that I'd just spent hours of my life in an underground hell. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt that said, "Legalize Marijuana." Well, that's an odd choice. Whatever. He probably just wants to make me laugh. I said hi and smiled. He still looked as cute as I'd remembered him. He kissed me on the cheek and my heart started racing. I waited for him to tell me I looked nice. He picked up the cue and checked me out- head to toe- before saying, "You look hot." Not exactly what a girl hopes to hear as the first compliment, but no problem. He's an artist, he's playing it cool.

He took me to the restaurant where we were going to have dinner. The place was crowded and when the hostess said there'd be a 15-20 minute wait, he turned to me and said, "Let's go somewhere else." I told him I really didn't mind waiting, it was friday night and there'd probably be a wait anywhere we went, but he really didn't want to stay there. I thought he was going to take me to another restaurant, probably one as nice as the one we were just at, but instead he took me to a diner. Now, I have no problems with diners. I actually love an old-fashioned new york city diner and don't think it's a bad place for a date. But I was really confused about how his plans to take me out to dinner at a nice restaurant had turned into eating at a poorly-lit, unimpressive diner, and started getting paranoid that maybe he didn't think I was pretty anymore and didn't want me to have any expectations.

As soon as we sat down, though, he started to explain himself, "You look all dressed up, I feel bad bringing you to a diner, I should've made a reservation, I never think anywhere's gonna be as crowded as it is." Oh, how cute, I thought and decided to ignore that his second compliment of the evening was you look all dressed up. "Please, don't sweat it," I said and gave him my best smile, "I rather be somewhere where we can hear each other talk anyway." He seemed pleased with my response and smiled back, which made him look super cute and I was back in this-date-is-going-to-be-great land.

Then the waitress came over. I've never been any good at being the girl who orders a garden salad at a diner, so I ordered a burger, fries, and a chocolate milk-shake. I guess that shocked him, because he blurted out, "What are you, pregnant?" The waitress looked at me, and my face must have registered, "What the fuck?" because she said she'd give us a few minutes. He looked at me and said, "I'm just joking around, I know you're not preggers."

Aside: to any male readers, if I may give you some advice here: Never, never, ever, ever, on date number 1 or date number 508, not even on a date with a woman who is pregnant, not even on a date with a woman you think is so skinny she'll most certainly understand that it's a joke, should you ever, ever, ever joke about a woman being pregnant. And, for the record, "preggers" will never be funny.

So, now that he had succeeded, with one sentence, in making me feel fat and self-conscious about what I'd ordered, you can imagine how the date went. I shut down and became monosyllabic. He could sense that something was up, though, and talked enough for both of us. For an artist, by the way, he was incredibly boring and I might as well have been on a date with an investment banker whose favorite hobby was collecting stamps. The highlight of our conversation was when he asked me to guess where his four piercings were. I'll spare you the details on that, as I myself have worked very hard to try and push that memory away.

I barely ate my food, which he didn't seem to notice, and when the check arrived, I didn't offer to split it, which I always do. He picked it up and paid for it with wrinkled $5 bills that he took out of his pocket (no wallet ever made an appearance), and asked me if I wanted to go to a bar and, I kid you not, "have some shots". I yawned and said, "It's a long way back for me, I think I should go home." He looked semi-defeated.

He walked me to the subway, and when we reached it I tried to avoid direct eye-contact so as to kill any impulse he might have kiss me, but he grabbed my hand and tried to kiss me anyway. I was so startled I almost fell on him. "Oh I'm sorry, I was trying to kiss you," he said. "Yeah, I noticed, I didn't see that coming." And then we stood there in an awkward silence. I mumbled the obligatory thank-you-for-a-nice-evening, and he replied with the let's-do-this-again-sometime, and then I went down the stairs to the subway, thinking to myself, Golly, I'd rather have had a date with the G train.

The next day, he wrote me an email (this was just before men resorted to texting for all forms of communication), saying it was great meeting me and asking me out again. I wrote back politely declining.

A few years later, he found me on facebook (yep, creepy), and sent me a message: "I know I wasn't good enough to date, but wanna be my facebook friend? I still think you're hot!"

Um. No, thanks.

Image from here.

Blessed

In the midst of holiday spirits, I am reminded that I am blessed.

There are suddenly no reasons to complain. Problems seem trivial. Dissatisfaction vanishes. Obligations evaporate. Desires become distant.

In the place of everyday gloom and doom, wanting and needing, there is simplicity and space.

And then, to my delight, there is an abundance of peace and love.

---fear not, dear readers, I assure you this perspective is temporary.

My Big Bully: Beauty Standards

Ten years ago, I watched the video of my 15th birthday party with my parents and started to scream because of how ugly I looked on the screen. My huge nose, my ear that stuck out, my heavy sagging breasts, my blemished skin, my tiny teeth; all blown up and immortalized on the TV screen. I had never felt pretty, as I've blogged about before, but now it wasn't just a self-esteem issue existing only in my head; there was evidence in the form of digital media, and it was beyond devastating.

Not a day went by after that when I didn't complain about being ugly. Self-hating behavior soon followed: cigarettes, drinking, not eating, overdoing it at the gym, and so on. Coupled with an untimely rejection from the boy I had a crush on at the time, it set me into a depressive spiral, and my parents started worrying about me. Shortly after, I made the decision to undergo plastic surgery. Thanks to Brazilian culture, my parents were unshaken by plastic surgeries, as well as desperate for a solution to my unhealthy self-image, so they allowed it.

On June 12, 2001, an ungentle doctor injected me with a general anesthetic, I passed out cold, and the woman nature intended me to be got cut, tucked, nipped, sculpted, stitched and sewn up, never to be seen again. Six hours later, I awoke throwing up blood and peeing myself, but I had a narrower nose, tucked ears, and smaller, perkier breasts. Not that I could see any of it- I was so bandaged and drugged I could barely remember my own name, but the team of doctors in their aqua-green uniforms were very cheerful and optimistic. All had gone very, very well. June 12th is Valentine's Day in Brazil and, as she wheeled me back to my room, the nurse said, "Happy Valentine's Day! Do you have a boyfriend?" I groggily shook my head no. "Oh, that's okay," she said and stroked my bandaged head, "You'll be so pretty now, next year you'll surely have a boyfriend." Although I was completely doped, I prayed that she please be right.

I forced my ugly-duckling self to blossom into a swan, because I did not know what else to do. Now that I'm an adult and deal with women's self-image issues on a daily basis, I am appalled that no one sat me down and said, "There's nothing wrong with you. Your insecurities are normal. You will survive adolescence, and changing your exterior self will have very little to do with it." Sure, I probably wouldn't have heard them and it may not have stopped me, but it's rather unsettling to think that no one even tried. A 15-year-old girl said, I'm insecure, I feel ugly, I'm going to have three plastic surgeries, and no one tried to stop it. No one tried to find a different (perhaps less permanent/painful/dangerous/expensive/risky) way to help me get through my teenage angst. Not one single person sat me down and tried to tell me I was good enough just as I was. It makes me want to start an "It Gets Better" campaign for plain and unpopular teenage girls. I think the pop-culture and media that standardizes the chase of socialized beauty ideals and profits from the insecurities of teenagers is a big fat bully, and someone should be protecting impressionable young women from it.

Although I have always said I don't regret any of the procedures I went through, the truth is it all happened when I was so young I really have no idea if I've turned out to be the best (or healthiest, or happiest) version of myself. I never got to see myself as an adult pre-surgeries. The irreversible nature of it all meant that what I ended up with was now what I'd live with- I would never again be 100% natural. Unlike medical surgeries and scars people end up with throughout life, these changes in me were self-imposed and forced. Plastic surgeries, much like lying, have the stubborn aftertaste of inauthenticity, and something about me would always feel slightly fake.

I recently heard an older woman talk about wanting to get plastic surgery and remarking, "My boyfriend loves me just the way I am, no one's ever complained, this is just for me," and I felt a pang of jealousy. She got to see who she really was, she found a way to accept it, and she got to be loved for who she was, flaws and all, before making the decision to change it. That is something I have never known.

I never tried to watch that video of my 15th birthday party again, but I still have it. I am pretty sure that if I watched it now I would not be mortified by my ugliness, though. If anything, I'd probably be disturbed by how misconstrued my own self-image was and left wondering, yet again, why there was no attempt to make me aware of that.

The truth is that it was easier, for me and everyone around me, to give in to beauty standards than try to change them. It was also easier to fix the exterior "problems" than deal with the interior battle, and I got what I wanted in the end. When I saw my prom pictures a few years later, I had the thought, Well, look at that. I'm pretty.

And the nurse's prediction was accurate. On June 12th, 2002, I didn't spend Valentine's Day alone.

Image from here.

An Encounter with Loneliness

I threw up my life on Sunday. Provoked by an overconsumption of vodka tonics on Saturday night, my body decided nothing was staying in. Shivering, I made a bed of bath mats on the bathroom floor, surrounded myself with towels, and lay next to my new friend: the toilet bowl. And there it went, in approximately 12 minute intervals: all the poison my digestive system protectively rejected.

As I lay there, in a sort of delusional state, weak and disgusted with myself, I felt not only the painful pangs of "I hate you right now" from my stomach, but also a feeling I'd not seen so close to the surface in a long time: I felt incredibly lonely. As though with every purge I also lost my knowledge of nurturing and belonging, I seemed to grow increasingly emptier. There's nothing inside me, was the recurring thought. I suddenly had an urge for evidence of every lesson I'd ever learned that had made me capable of providing myself with love and care. I wanted to know that "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger" existed inside me, as a tangible idea that I had proved throughout my life. I wanted to know that rejection, pain, abandonment, and loss had created muscles in my body and provided me with resources that I could rely on for survival.

What I felt instead was a hollowness, an endless void. There was no physical evidence of the things I had overcome and the lessons I had learned. Any acquired strength or courage had left no imprint. The depths of my stomach had been evacuated, and with it went all my adult-like knowledge that everything would be okay.

I didn't have much time to dwell on this, as I eventually fell into a deep sleep, and by the time I woke up, I was the same as I had always been, except my stomach was flatter and my complexion paler. I felt weak, yes, but my body knew how to go through the motions of taking care of myself. I could get up, shower, change, eat something bland, drink water, and lie back down again. I could tell myself, everything is going to be okay.

But I can not shake that for those couple of hours, exhausted of my defenses, I felt an emptiness so deep it paralyzed me. My knowledge of the world, of myself, and of my life, had somehow abandoned me. The inner mother, the adult-within-the-child, the wiser voice; they were all gone. I was alone.

Was it real, I wonder? Was that loneliness the essence of humanity, and all the rest is just a sham to help us survive? Or do we really have souls, a higher Self, a sense of belonging to a bigger picture?

At the end of the day, are we just alone, or is there really something at our core that never leaves us?

Gratitude and God

I tend to bargain with God.

I'm not really a big God person but, sometimes, I do talk to someone- and not just an energy or vibration, but someone very specific to me, whose presence I can feel clearly and closely. And I call that someone "God", because it's practical and, honestly, I haven't come up with anything better.

When I have food poisoning and feel like I'm about to throw up my lungs, I start talking to God. Ok. Listen. I'll do anything. Just make me feel better. I know you can do it. I know you just want my attention. So here's what I'll do: I will sell my Prada bags and use the money to buy meals for homeless people. How does that sound? Please, just help me out here.

Or when I want to do well at an audition: Yo. Here's the deal, help me do really well in this audition, because I really really want it and I need a sign that I'm still supposed to be doing this, so help me get this part, and I'll pray every night for a week. Ok, I probably won't. But I'll remember you. I'll blog about you. How does that sound? I'll remember to be grateful. I promise.

Essentially, I turn to God in times of need and, for the most part, forget all about God when things are going well. It reminds me of a Chuck Palahniuk quote, "Your parents are like God, you turn to them when you need them."

But every once in a while, I remember to make a gratitude list before going to bed. It's mostly just an outline of the simple things I usually take for granted. I feel a shift immediately, a relief of being unburdened from always wanting more.

So here's today's list, may this be my tribute to the powers that be.

Today I am grateful for...

Sleeping well.

Warm covers.

Technology that allows for alarm clocks.

Cuddling and body warmth.

Caring about someone.

Coffee with a super fun co-worker.

Rain.

A warm coat.

Monthly unlimited metro card.

A painless subway ride.

Bagel with butter.

My laptop.

Email from an old friend.

Boredom. Far better than stress.

More coffee.

Scrabble.

The outdoors.

Smart women.

Press passes.

Washing hair.

Hot water.

Pink fluffy towel.

Birthday dinner.

Reconnecting.

Sangria.

Tapas.

Chocolate mousse crack cake.

Walking.

Peter Rabbit.

Tea.

Don't have to wake up early tomorrow.

Bed.

Old pajamas.

Blogging.

A Quickie: How to Win His Heart

When I was 12, I had a huge crush on this guy, whom I'll call Bonzo here. Clueless about seduction, I was desperate for advice on how to win his heart. Lo and behold, a teen magazine I read religiously at the time published an article titled, "How to Win His Heart". It gave me some very specific instructions, such as:

1. Write his name on a piece of paper, then put the piece of paper in a jar of honey, and store the jar under your bed.

2. Fake fainting around him. It'll give him a chance to take care of you and feel knight-like.

3. Buy a notebook that looks just like his, make sure your phone number is in it, and swap yours for his when he isn't looking.

4. Flirt with your teacher in front of him. Seeing you get attention from an older man will awaken his animalistic need to mark his territory.

5. Ask a friend to give you a hickey. He has to know you're not waiting for him to notice you.

So I followed the advice to boot and, as predicted, he fell madly in love with me and we had a beautiful love story.

NOT.

What really happened was:

1. I ended up with an ant infestation under my bed and had to explain to my mom why I had a jar of honey with the word BONZO in it.

2. I got sent to the nurse for "fainting", she thought I was skipping meals and sent me to the guidance counselor, who gave me a bunch of brochures on eating disorders.

3. I bought the damn notebook, swapped mine for Bonzo's, but he apparently never missed his notebook because he never called me or returned my notebook to me or tried to figure out where his notebook was.

4. My teacher stood stone-still when I hugged him. Awkward and, if I had lived in the U.S. at the time, probably would've gotten us both arrested. No one's animalistic need to mark their territory was awakened, as far as I could tell.

5. My mom saw my hickey and grounded me for, like, ever.

Bonzo soon started dating some girl and I cancelled my subscription to said teen magazine.

Conclusion:

Honey doesn't have magic powers.

Fainting isn't hot.

Notebook swapping isn't how Cupid communicates.

Don't hug your middle-school teachers.

Hickeys are just a bad idea, period.

And teen magazines are full of shit.

image from here.

Movie Review: "The Social Network"

A Generation Faced

Once upon a time we could go out, get drunk with our friends, fall on our butts on a dance floor, make out with whoever sat next to us in urban sociology class that week, and all we'd have to worry about the next day was nursing our hang-overs and avoiding eye-contact with said make-out subject. This was also the time when "tagging" was a word used to describe a childhood game where one child would chase another, photography was usually associated with pleasant memories, and "poking" was not something one did via the world wide web, as Betty White expressed when she hosted SNL.

And then there was Facebook.

I was a first-year student at Sarah Lawrence College visiting my friend at the University of Pennsylvania the first time I heard about facebook. Amidst an otherwise normal conversation between 18-year-olds, she asked me, "Are you on facebook?" and paused dramatically. I shrugged, "I don't know what that is," and was met with a glare. "It's like this online thing for colleges where you put a profile up and look at other people's profiles. It's so cool. You have to be invited to join. Maybe they don't have it at Sarah Lawrence yet," she said with less excitement, thinking that might be a bad thing. "Yeah, probably not," I replied almost condescendingly, "I don't think a school that small needs an online thing, everyone knows everyone, it'd be kind of stupid."

Of course I was completely wrong. I soon found out, through my roommate, that everyone I knew was on facebook, that I had to get on it, that I had to befriend at least 70 people (back then, that was a lot), that I had to join "The Drinking Department Has a Theatre Problem" Group, and that I had to check immediately if the guy I'd been seeing had changed his relationship status. Like most people who were in college at the time of facebook's invention, I followed suit and created a profile, for no other reason than because everyone else had one.

Snooping crushes, advertising events, bad-mouthing teachers, bonding with classmates, staying in touch with friends in other countries, finding out about parties; everything was suddenly frighteningly easy and instantaneous. The word "facebook" was soon a verb, a noun, and an adjective. Upon meeting someone new it was perfectly acceptable to say, "facebook me" instead exchanging phone numbers or email addresses. A flattering or funny picture could be described as "facebook profile worthy". Mass emailing was replaced by facebook status updates, album and link sharing, and group/event invites. Moreover, as far as my generation was concerned, high-school would no longer be left at high-school, we could now keep up with what everyone was up to and who they were becoming; every-day life was now documented and accessible to everyone, for as long as facebook lived.

So when I saw the trailer for the movie, The Social Network, about a month ago, I was not surprised that facebook's popularity had warranted a movie only a few years after the site was launched. Here was a movie that a great majority of people could relate to, because even if you're not on facebook, you know about it, you've probably seen it on someone's computer screen, and you understand the magnitude of its impact on society. It was sure to be a box office hit, I predicted.

Indeed, it has maintained first place status at the box office for two consecutive weeks, and I had to wait until its second weekend in theaters to manage to see it. The movie is certainly entertaining and produces an engaging, albeit clearly dramatized, depiction of Mark Zuckerberg and the beginning of Facebook. Aaron Sorkin, whose works include "A Few Good Men" and "The West Wing", wrote a captivating script, brought to life masterfully by renowned blockbuster director David Fincher and the cast, with particularly layered performances by Jesse Eisenberg and Andrew Garfield. It was hard not to notice, however, that the movie adheres to college cliches and gender stereotypes, with female characters limited to college girls who will do anything (including stripping, dancing on tables, and making out with each other) to impress boys in prestigious clubs, groupies who blow boys they don't know in public bathrooms, phycho-jealous girlfriends, and cold lawyers- minus Rashida Jones, whose character is a sympathetic, though ambiguous, lawyer.

Meanwhile, the men in the movie are portrayed as being obsessively hungry for an elevated social status; their every action reflective of their desire for approval and admiration. The interactions between men and women are limited to gratuitous sexual adventures in typical party scenes, romantic relationships ending badly, and inconclusive lawyer-client exchanges. Rather than "defining a generation", I would say the movie successfully portrays intelligent young men in higher academia, outwitting their teachers, lawyers, and girlfriends, until they end up extremely successful and alone (and by "end up" I mean that's where they are at 26).

Facebook did not endorse the movie at all, but didn't make too much of a fuss over its (in)accuracies either. A smart move, considering it's common knowledge that Hollywood does what it has to do to tell sell a story, and the multi-billion dollar business that is facebook knows that people don't care and, if anything, this will just make facebook bigger. After all, people will sooner take the time to write on their walls, "updating facebook status while watching facebook movie lmao," than deactivate their accounts due to questions about who invented facebook.

While The Social Network succeeded in entertainment value, it missed an opportunity to truly expose a generation and explore the reasons behind facebook's lasting success, the losses of privacy and real human contact, and the evolving need for an online social network. Perhaps because Sorkin himself does not use facebook and has claimed to dislike internet networking as a main form of socializing, it is instead a well-written and solidly executed movie about a law-suit that wouldn't be interesting to anyone other than straight white Harvard males were it not about the one thing that over 500 million people have in common right now. Certainly an attention-grabber, but is it an accurate reference for the image of a generation and is it worthy of the Oscar buzz it's received?

I would say it's more indulging than inspiring, more fun than fact. Just like facebook.

Images from here.