Yes, Please

I've previously mentioned that I am a snob when it comes to movie posters, preferring graphics to photos and striking, simple designs to cluttered ones.

I haven't seen it yet, but these re-imaginings of the 'Black Swan' poster? To die for.

Or maybe lose your sanity and think you're a swan for. As I said, I haven't seen the movie.

Five Reasons I Am Excited to Go Back to America for Christmas

1. Christmas
Clearly, this is the biggest and most obvious. During the time I lived in London, I spent Christmas away from home...it wasn't awful, really. I got drinks with friends Christmas Eve, opened presents with my family via Skype, had a nice dinner with my roommate. But it wasn't the same. I want to go home and see our 12-ft tall (real!) tree that has more ornaments than branches. I want to help Mom move all the Rudolph stuffed toys down the basement so she can perform the show while we watch the DVD at the same time. I want to eat my dad's macaroni and cheese with 80 or our nearest and dearest and then sing a tone-deaf, slightly intoxicated version of '12 Days of Christmas' with everyone invented hand motions and the kids trying to drown out one another. I want to go ice skating at town center with my sister and wander Tyson's and drink wine with my best friends while we talk about the past year. I want to do all of these things and, in less than a week, I can.

2. Hamburgers
I'm pretty sure I'm going to Five Guys on the way home from the airport (so long as I don't get airplane food poisoning again...). Do you have idea how glorious a dead cow with cheese sounds right now? And Cajun fries? Oh my. Not only are the Brits terrible at burgers, but I have found myself surrounded by a disproportionately high number of vegetarians these past few months, which only makes me crave meat more. It's definitely a situation of 'for every animal you save, I'll eat three,' and I'd like to make good on this threat as quickly as possible.

3. Clothes
I know it's impossible, but I swear I wear everything in my closet every day. Or, that's what it feel likes. I am so. very. bored. with what I have to wear...I want dresses, again. I want shoe options. I want a second sweatshirt, at least. I want options! Also, I want my winter coat, desperately. It's so very cold.

4. Perspective
I feel like I've been making fairly significant life choices in a bubble, recently. Not to say I've been making bad decisions, just been making them without any input from people who know me really well, who know what my situation is and what makes me happy/unhappy, etc. I'd like to be able to talk to my family about my academic/living plans, talk to my friends about social things, etc.

5. PEOPLE
Oh my sweet heaven, I cannot wait to see people. This was kind of covered in the first and fourth points but....my family! My sister! KaJaMa! Jacey! All the DC adventure people! My New York crew! All of my people! I have been truly lucky to meet a wonderful group of friends here, but getting to see my people at home again....wonderful. Truly wonderful.

Merry Christmas, chickens.

THIS TUMBLR IS NOW DIAMONDS

A couple of weeks ago I added the Sesame Street Tumblr to my Google Reader. Best. Idea. Ever.

A Slightly Different Song of the Day

Song of the Day

Crossroads (Joyce Sutphen)

The second half of my life will be black
to the white rind of the old and fading moon.
The second half of my life will be water
over the cracked floor of these desert years.
I will land on my feet this time,
knowing at least two languages and who
my friends are. I will dress for the
occasion, and my hair shall be
whatever color I please.
Everyone will go on celebrating the old
birthday, counting the years as usual,
but I will count myself new from this
inception, this imprint of my own desire.

The second half of my life will be swift,
past leaning fenceposts, a gravel shoulder,
asphalt tickets, the beckon of open road.
The second half of my life will be wide-eyed,
fingers shifting through fine sands,
arms loose at my sides, wandering feet.
There will be new dreams every night,
and the drapes will never be closed.
I will toss my string of keys into a deep
well and old letters into the grate.

The second half of my life will be ice
breaking up on the river, rain
soaking the fields, a hand
held out, a fire,
and smoke going
upward, always up.

On The Strength of All Conviction and the Stamina of Love ( Jennifer Michael Hecht)

Sometimes I think
we could have gone on.
All of us. Trying. Forever.

But they didn’t fill
the deserts with pyramids.
They just built some. Some.

They’re not still put there,
building them now. Everyone,
everywhere, gets up, and goes home.

Yet we must not
Diabolize time. Right?
We must not curse the passage of time.

Anatomy of a Bookshelf

Shelf 1, back row: "Making of" movie books, plays, comic anthologies/graphic novels

Shelf 1, front row: poetry, London guides

Shelf 2, back row: Harry Potter, His Dark Materials, Sherlock Holmes, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, In Cold Blood, The Other Boleyn Girl, The Complete Edgar Allen Poe

Shelf 2, front row: The Peggy Lane Theater Series, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Amnesiac, The Woman in White, Dracula, The Alienist, Gone with the Wind, Sense and Sensibility, Emma, Little Women, Peter Pan (11 copies)

Shelf 3, back row: Shakespeare lit crit and historical context

Shelf 3, front row: Shakespeare plays (38 volumes)

Shelf 4, back row: young adult and children's (mostly published 1960's), foreign language textbooks

Shelf 4, front row: young adult and children's (mostly published 1980's)

Shelf 5: picture books, shooting scripts, theater programs, half filled notebooks

So, basically, something like 70% of my bookshelf has a reading level of 12 or younger and the rest is Shakespeare. Sounds about right.

As If That Last Poem Wasn't Great Enough on Its Own...

Litany (Billy Collins)

You are the bread and the knife,
the crystal goblet and the wine.
You are the dew on the morning grass
and the burning wheel of the sun.
You are the white apron of the baker,
and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,
the plums on the counter,
or the house of cards.
And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.
There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,
maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,
but you are not even close
to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show
that you are neither the boots in the corner
nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,
speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,
that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,
the evening paper blowing down an alley
and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees
and the blind woman's tea cup.
But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.
You are still the bread and the knife.
You will always be the bread and the knife,
not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.

Five Videos I'm Into Right Now

(because it can't all be quotes from books I'm giving away)

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

...okay, so I'm always into that last one.

And You Can Quote Me: Pride and Prejudice; Jane Austen

And yet I meant to be uncommonly clever in taking so decided a dislike to him, without any reason. It is such a spur to one's genius, such an opening for wit, to have a dislike of that kind. One may be continually abusive without saying any thing just; but one cannot be always always laughing at a man without now and then stumbling on something witty.

At any rate, she cannot grow many degrees worse, without authorizing us to lock her up for the rest of her life.

And You Can Quote Me: Mansfield Park; Jane Austen

If any one faculty of our nature may be called more wonderful than the rest, I do think it is memory. There seems something more speakingly incomprehensible in the powers, the failures, the inequalities of memory, than in any other of our intelligences. The memory is sometimes so retentive, so serviceable, so obedient; at others, so bewildered and so weak; and at others again, so tyrannic, so beyond control! We are, to be sure, a miracle every way—but our powers of recollecting and of forgetting do seem peculiarly past finding out.

'It is as a dream, a pleasant dream!' he exclaimed, breaking forth again, after a few minutes' musing. 'I shall always look back on our theatricals with exquisite pleasure. There was such an interest, such an animation, such a spirit diffused. Everybody felt it. We were alive. There was employment, hope, solicitude, bustle for every hour of the day. Always some little objection, some little doubt, some little anxiety to be got over. I never was happier.'

But tell me about it. Talk to me forever.

The impossibility of not doing everything in the world to make Fanny Price happy, or of ceasing to love Fanny Price, was of course the groundwork of his eloquent answer.

If I had the power of recalling any one week of my existence, it should be that week, that acting week.

Nay, in sober sadness, I believe I now love you all.

When I think of this being the last time of seeing you for I do not know how long, I feel it quite impossible to do anything but love you.

But were I to attempt to tell you of all the women whom I have known to be in love with him, I should never have done.

And You Can Quote Me: The Perks of Being a Wallflower; Stephen Chbosky

I just need to know that someone out there listens and understands and doesn't try to sleep with people even if they could have. I need to know that these people exist.

I am both happy and sad and I'm still trying to figure out how that could be.

And I wonder if anyone is really happy. I hope they are. I really hope they are.

Then, I turned around and walked to my room and closed my door and put my head under my pillow and let the quiet put things where they are supposed to be.

Patrick actually used to be popular before Sam brought him some good music.

I really think that everyone should have watercolors, magnetic poetry, and a harmonica.

The outside lights were on, and it was snowing, and it looked like magic. Like we were somewhere else. Like we were someplace better.

And I thought that all those little kids are going to grow up someday. And all of those little kids are going to do the things that we do. And they will all kiss someone someday. But for now, sledding is enough. I think it would be great if sledding were always enough, but it isn't.

...I was looking at the old photographs, I started thinking that there was a time when these weren't memories. That someone actually took that photograph, and the people in the photograph had just eaten lunch or something.

I think the idea is that every person has to live for his or her own life, and then make the choice to share it with other people.

...even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn't really change the fact that you have what you have. Good and bad.

And You Can Quote Me: Persuasion; Jane Austen

She had been forced into prudence in her youth, she learned romance as she grew older—the natural sequel of an unnatural beginning.

Gallons of River Water

Who's pumped for USA/England tomorrow? Oh, I am. Adopted country, we're gunnin' for you....no matter what John Oliver says.

The Daily Show With Jon Stewart	Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c
World Cup 2010: Into Africa - Two Teams, One Cup
www.thedailyshow.com
Daily Show Full Episodes Political Humor Tea Party

Travel (Edna St. Vincent Millay)

The railroad track is miles away,

And the day is loud with voices speaking,
Yet there isn't a train goes by all day
But I hear its whistle shrieking.

All night there isn't a train goes by,
Though the night is still for sleep and dreaming,
But I see its cinders red on the sky,
And hear its engine steaming.

My heart is warm with friends I make,
And better friends I'll not be knowing;
Yet there isn't a train I'd rather take,
No matter where it's going.

And You Can Quote Me: The Catcher in the Rye; J.D. Salinger

“I’m trying to help you. I’m trying to help you, if I can.”
He really was, too. You could see that. But it was just that we were too much on opposite sides of the pole, that’s all.

When I really worry about something, I don’t just fool around.

The only reason I didn’t do it was because I wasn’t in the mood. If you’re not in the mood, you can’t do that stuff right.

That’s the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they’re not much to look at, or even if they’re sort of stupid, you half fall in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are.

The goddam movies. They can ruin you. I’m not kidding.

I used to think she was quite intelligent, in my stupidity. The reason I did was because she knew quite a lot about theater and plays and literature and all that stuff. If somebody knows quite a lot about those things, it takes you quite awhile to figure out if they’re really stupid or not.

Goddam money. It always ends up making you blue as hell.

Certain things they should stay the way they are. You ought to be able to stick them in one of those big glass cases and just leave them alone. I know that’s impossible, but its too bad anyway.

If a girl looks swell when she meets you, who gives a damn if she’s late? Nobody.

It’s not too bad when the sun’s out, but the sun only comes out when it feels like coming out.

“I don’t want to scare you.” he said, “but I can very clearly see you dying, one way or another, for some highly unworthy cause.”

Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.

And You Can Quote Me: Anna Karenina; Leo Tolstoy

All happy families are alike but an unhappy family is unhappy after its own fashion.

“..what am I to do?”
There was no answer, except life’s usual answer to the most complex and insoluble questions. The answer is this: live from day to day; in other words, forget.

Perhaps it’s our strong point really—this faculty for seeing our own shortcomings; but we overdo it, we comfort ourselves with irony to which we always give ready tongue.

It was my last effort. And I put my whole heart into it. I can’t. I’m no good at it.

His whole heart was filled with memories.

The future is yours and the present is mine- and the present is not all that it might be.

But it could not be helped. What must be must be.

By the mark of your steed
I can tell his fine breed
And a young man in love by his eyes

He felt himself and did not want to be anyone else. All he wanted was to be better than he had been before.

However often one sees her, every day she’s different. you only get that with the French.

They ought to find a way of being inoculated against love, like being vaccinated for smallpox.

Time will go by and I shall not mind about this either.

Spring is the time of plans and projects.

Woman, don’t you know, is the sort of subject that study it as much as you will it is always quite new.

Whatever our destiny is or may be, we have made it ourselves and we do not complain…no, they must needs teach us how to live. They haven’t the remotest idea of what happiness is; they don’t know that without our love, for us there is neither happiness nor unhappiness- there would be no life at all.

There are times when one would give a whole month for a six pence and others when you wouldn’t sell half-an-hour at any price.

She was studying his face, making up for the time she had not seen him, comparing, as she did every time they met, the picture of him in her imagination (incomparably superior, impossible in reality) with him as he actually was.

He looked at her as a man might look at some faded flower he had picked, in which it was difficult to trace the beauty that had made him pick and so destroy it.

I’ve always loved you, and if one loves anyone, one loves the whole person, just as they are and not as one would like them to be…

He who advocates war- off with him in a special advance legion to lead the first onslaught, the first attack!

Two is the Beginning of the End

(via Londonist)

Michael Buble is Being Stalked by a Velociraptor

(and it's kind of the best thing ever)

LEAD FEMALE'S NAME

Five Reasons Why the Winter Olympics Are Better Than the Summer Olympics

Still experiencing a little post-Olympic withdrawal. 2012 seems so far, while 2014 is a LIFETIME. And, as we all know, the Winter Olympics are way better than the Summer Olympics. Why's that, you ask? I'll tell you.

1. The age range

This is one of those classic cases where I have no facts to back up this statement, but it seems to me that there is a much wider age range in the Winter Olympics than the summer ones. A lot of the athletes I saw were late 20's to early 30's, but there were still teenagers in most events as well, so it seems that the sports just lend themselves to wider age ranges. I like this because a) you get to know the the athletes because they participate in more than one Olympics, b) there's a transition between the younger and older athletes and c) if someone messes up (Lindsey Jacobellis, anyone?) you don't have to feel quite as bad because maybe next time! Also, repeat Olympic appearances means that athletes have a chance to get their first-Olympic jitters out of the way, which could potentially lead to great performances. ALSO, repeat Olympic performances mean rivalries can be strengthened, and that's ha;f the fun!

2. Less is more

I know the Summer Olympics are more egalitarian, but I enjoy the fact that there are less countries in the Winter Games, not because I don't want those missing countries to have a chance to compete but because it makes watching it easier/more enjoyable. The aforementioned rivalries are more concentrated and take on a greater country-v-country aspect, the medal standing are easier to track, etc.

Along those lines, there are also fewer events in the Winter Games, which means I really can follow EVERYTHING, and care, and get behind Team USA as a whole as opposed to reducing it the Michael Phelps and the gymnastics team.

3. Racing on a track is less than racing on anything else

One of the biggest Summer Olympics sports is running. Running with hurdles, running without, running in teams, running this distance, running that, running running running. I find watching running incredibly boring. The distances are usually short, or feel way too long, people seem to go much slower than they do...I just don't like it. But strap a pair of skates on their feet? Done and done. Seriously, compare short track to track track...there's no comparison. Short track is way, way better. The grace, the balance required, the fact that you are almost guaranteed a collision at some point, the angle of the skaters...it's just all way better. Alpine skiing? Better. Bobsled? Better, if only marginally. And it goes on.

4. Danger! Danger, Will Robinson!

The Winter Olympics are about 1000x more dangerous than the Summer Olympics. Almost every sport involves risking life and limb in some serious way, and disaster lurks around every corner. I don't watch the Winter Olympic because I want someone to get hurt, but the fact that they could (and do) makes the viewing experience way more intense/suspenseful. Also, it gives me greater respect for the athletes. Yes, you can swim fast, but you don't require courage to get in that pool, while I think throwing yourself down a mountains takes some serious balls.

5. We get to hate on Russia again

Seriously, the Russians are just the best villains the world has ever seen, and the Winter Olympics once again give us an opportunity to be locked in an epic battle with them for supremacy (one we handily won this last time round). You only need to see the Plushenko profile to see how a view shots of Moscow and a little accented discussion of one's "enemies" can take men's figure skating and elevate it to James Bond proportions.

And You Can Quote Me: The Boxcar Children #3: The Yellow House Mystery; Gertrude Chandler Warner

But he was too late. The [fish] hook caught fast in her hair and pulled it down over her face.

"Oh Alice, your pretty smooth hair!" cried Violet.

"O.K." said Benny. "Then I suppose we'll really starve without any breakfast at all."

"Let's call this Potato Camp, because we didn't eat anything here but potatoes." After that, the children always called it Potato Camp.

And You Can Quote Me: The Boxcar Children #5: Mike's Mystery; Gertrude Chandler Warner

(in which more things are named, gender roles are further enforced and washing machines are incredibly exciting)

Jessie nodded at her older brother. "Yes, we will get off at Yellow Sands now. I think that is a beautiful name. Our uranium fields look just like yellow sand."

"[The horse] is taking it easy these days," said Maggie. "He stays out in the field all the time eating grass. This car goes faster."

"You mean you can drive it, Maggie?" asked Jessie.

"Yes," said Maggie smiling. "Sam says I drive alright."

"Remember Pat? My big brother?"

"Oh, yes, " said Henry. "He was the one who almost got drowned at the picnic."

"I'm glad," said Mrs. Wood very quietly. " I love to bake pies the best of anything. I wish I had time."

"Haven't you time?" asked Jessie, puzzled.

"No, dear," said Mrs. Wood. Her voice sounded sad. "I was all day to earn money to help keep us. I'm lucky to have a washing machine."

He showed them the door of the super market which opened all by itself.

"I'm afraid it is," said Jessie, trying to read. "That lovely new, pink house, and the washing machine and the electric stove!"

(Note: What Jessie is reacting to is a friend's house being burnt to the ground, the main plot point of the story)

"Well, well, Mr. Carter!" cried Henry. "We are so glad to see you again. You always seem to pop up when there is trouble."

"I try to," said John Carter with a twinkle in his eye.

"So when the place cools off, the pink house will be built again," replied the man.

"How about the things inside? The washing machine?" asked Jessie.

(Note: At this point, the children decide to set Mrs. Wood, Mike's mother, up with a pie shop)

"Sign?" cried Benny. "Did you say a sign? I'll tell you a good sign. Mike's Mother's Place."

..."Wonderful!" said Jessie. "And what a wonderful name for this place!"

"Oh, I remember," said Mr. Alden. "He had a brother who almost drowned."

Jessie wanted t wash dishes first. She filled the dish pan with hot soap suds. Then one by one, she slid the plates in, and washed them with a sponge. "I just love to do this," she said.

And You Can Quote Me: The Boxcar Children #1: The Boxcar Children; Gertrude Chandler Warner

Now the baker's wife did not like children. She did not like boys at all.

"Come, Benny," he said. "You must wake up and walk now."

"Go away!" said Benny.

"Good morning, Benny. Time to get up. Today you must build something for me out of stones."

"What is it?" Benny asked eagerly.

"I'm not going to tell you," said Henry, laughing.

"A runaway hen!" said Jessie. "She wanted to hide her nest so she would have some chickens. We'll have the eggs for supper. I know how to cook eggs."

(Note: Is anyone else disturbed how easily Jessie segues from "how cute, she wanted babies" to "let's eat them"?)

Now J. H. Alden liked boys. He liked to see them running and jumping and playing.

Jessie laughed and laughed until she almost cried. Violet laughed until she did cry.

Then she could not stop crying. She cried and cried. At last Jessie made up her mind that Violet was really sick.

"Well, if you don't find him, maybe you can have me, " remarked Benny. "I like you."

"You do? cried the man. "Come and get up in my lap."

Five Passages from The Boxcar Children #6: Blue Bay Mystery

Because why not?

1. "Can Watch go?" asked Benny.
"Sorry, my boy. Let me tell you about Watch," began Mr. Alen.
"And now I know he can't," said Benny.

2. "I never saw such a lovely blue bay!" cried Jessie.
"You never will," said Lars. "They say this is the bluest bay in the world. We call it Blue Bay."

3. "..Sit on the big rocks. I'll give you each a fish line in a minute."
But it turned out that Lars had only four fish lines.
"It's just as well, " said Mr. Alden. "You girls sit on the rock and watch."

4. "Sounds good," said Peter. "My mother used to cook good things. I hope we can find her."

(Note: By "find her" Peter means "I hope she didn't die in that horrible shipwreck")

5. Mr. Alden went on. "Another thing, Captain, have you your secret camera?"
"Oh yes, I always have that."

...and one more!

BONUS: "I hope I can live till tomorrow," said Benny.
They all lived till "tomorrow."

And You Can Quote Me: Reality Bites

Lelaina: I was really going to be somebody by the time I was 23.
Troy: Honey, all you have to be by the time you're 23 is yourself.
Lelaina: I don't know who that is anymore.
Troy: I do. And we all love her. I love her. She breaks my heart again and again, but I love her.

Covering the Year

(via The Daily Dish)

"They who can give up essential liberty...

...to obtain a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety."
-Benjamin Franklin

I am currently engaging in a bit of an experiment. Tucker Carlson launched the "conservative answer to the Huffington Post" a few days ago (a conservative answer to a progressive answer to a conservative aggragate blog? whatever) and, due to its vast superiority when it comes to layout and design, I have decided to give it a shot. Am I a conservative? Not at all, but my biggest problem with today's current political discourse is that there really is none. We retreat to our separate corners and we put our hands over our ears and we listen to only those who agree with us and that's...that's not how it's done. That's not how it should be done. And because of this, I've become increasingly uncomfortable getting my news from left-leaning sources. Am I getting the whole story? What's the other side say? And am I agreeing with what I'm reading because that's what I think, or that's what I'm being told to think?

Also, I feel it can only serve to strengthen/clarify your opinion if you form it in conflict with something. My favorite political discussions are those I have with my (reasonable, well-informed) conservative friends because while we neer change each other's minds, we do tend to wind up with a broader viewpoint and a deeper understanding.

So! Basically, that was a really long way of saying, I'm going to see where this Daily Caller thing takes me.

Day One was a little rough, in that I'd like to punch Eric Cantor in the face and there is some woman who is basically everything you hate about self-satisfied bloggers and Sarah Palin rolled into one, but the news stories...not so bad. Reasonable, even. Understandable, if nothing else.

Today, ignoring the lessons I learned yesterday, I once again ventured into the opinion column. After reading a poorly written, but relatively unoffensive call to parents to exert more diligence over their children's social lives, I clicked on a link for a post by Martha Zoller entitled A woman of a certain age vs. body scanners.

Now, let me preface this by saying, I hate the idea of body scanners. They make me markedly uncomfortable. I just think it's a step too far and, as Zoller points out, "Sources say the substance that was in his panties would not have been detectable by a full body scanner" (if I was a real journalist I would find information to substantiate this claim, but not being a real journalist, I'm inclined to give Zoller the benefit of the doubt when it comes to fact-checkable things). There has to be a point where you draw the line and say, no, no thanks, and, for me, that line is allowing a computer to strip search me. Again, I'm with Zoller here:

On top of that, it seems that TSA is telling a little white lie about whether these machines can store and send images. TSA says no, common sense says yes. If it can take a digital picture, it will show up somewhere and that scares me to death.

I'm not saying the TSA is lying, but it is well within the realm of possiblity that these images could be seen beyond that step through in the airport. And that's just not okay with me.

Zoller goes on:

So let’s look at the real problem with the boarding of Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab, who I call “The Panty Bomber,” on an airplane bound for Detroit on Christmas Day. Sources say the substance that was in his panties would not have been detectable by a full body scanner. There are disputes as to whether he had luggage or a passport, but there is no dispute that he arrived at the airport, booked a one-way ticket, paid cash and checked no luggage.

Again, I'm kind of on board with this, and at this point, I'm feeling good. I'm thinking, look at me and Zoller! We're on the same page! We are coming together over the idea of privacy! The answer is not to increase Big Brother, but to pay attention to things like one-way tickets paid in cash and no checked luggage (I have read enough spy novels in my day to know these are suspicious things)! Now she's going to talk about how his name was flagged and his father told us he was a terrorist and how the system fell down but how the rational answer is not then put the system on steroids but to fix the system and maintain our freedom! Huzzah! Maybe she will even use that great Ben Franklin quote (see above)!

And then I kept reading:

If you throw in there the fact that he was Muslim and a male under 40, there were red flags all over this guy.

So because of political correctness, I have to continue being searched at the airport. I generally set off the alarms every time I go through. Not sure what does it but I get the full raise your legs, hold your arms out, wand up and down treatment almost every time I fly. I don’t really mind it since we know Rubenesque women of 50 are at very high risk to try to take a plane down. What really makes me angry is seeing an octogenarian being frisked right down to their waistbands. I dared to ask a TSA agent why search an 85 year old woman who is in a wheelchair and he said, “last week we found a gun on a 90 year old.” Do you believe that, I don’t?

...oh.

This the point where my head starts to hurt. Suddenly, we're not talking about privacy and liberty anymore, we're talking about racial profiling to cut down on inconvenience.

I am immediately reminded of Colin Powell, when he endorsed Obama:

I'm also troubled by - not what Senator McCain says - but what members of the Party say, and it is permitted to be said: such things as, "Well, you know that Mr. Obama is a Muslim." Well, the correct answer is he is not a Muslim. He's a Christian; has always been a Christian. But the really right answer is, "What if he is? Is there something wrong with being a Muslim in this country?" The answer's "No, that's not America." Is there something wrong with some seven-year-old Muslim American kid believing that he or she could be President? Yet, I have heard senior members of my own Party drop the suggestion he's Muslim and he might be associated with terrorists. This is not the way we should be doing it in America.

I feel strongly about this particular point because of a picture I saw in a magazine. It was a photo essay about troops who were serving in Iraq and Afghanistan. And one picture at the tail end of this photo essay was of a mother in Arlington Cemetery. And she had her head on the headstone of her son's grave. And as the picture focused in, you could see the writing on the headstone. And it gave his awards - Purple Heart, Bronze Star; showed that he died in Iraq; gave his date of birth, date of death. He was twenty years old. And then at the very top of the headstone, it didn't have a Christian cross. It didn't have a Star of David. It had a crescent and a star of the Islamic faith. And his name was Karim Rashad Sultan Kahn. And he was an American. He was born in New Jersey, he was fourteen years old at the time of 9/11 and he waited until he could go serve his country and he gave his life.

According to Wikipedia (a sometimes dubious source, I know, but recall I am not a journalist), there are between 2.5 and 7 millions Muslims in the United States. I do not know the percentage of which are males under 40, and nor do I care. If we, as a country, decide it's okay to single out that demographic and label them as dangerous in our treatment of them, it affects everyone else as well. It creates a divide and draws a line in the sand and says "you are over there and we are over here." The GOP likes to point to American liberty as one of the reasons other cultures and countries take issue with us, as one of the reason we are superior, as something that makes America great and yet they seem to be so cavalier about revoking those rights to groups they take issue with.

And if we are going through with Zoller's suggestion, how do you recognize if someone is Muslim or not? You can't, not definitively and, as far as I know, there is no place on the passport for religion. So therefore Zoller's "Muslims under 40" is widened into "Arab-Americans under 40." Keep in mind, the Panty Bomber was Nigerian. So now its "Arab-Americans and Nigerians under 40." And it expands again. And again.

Zoller seems to accept the fact that, for an unknown reason, she sets off airport security and is stopped. As it should be. If I set something off, I should be stopped. If I pay for a one-way ticket with cash and no luggage, I should be stopped. This I do not argue with, because they are legitimately (in my mind) suspicious. A one-way ticket and no luggage indicates haste and no plan to return, which in turn indicates fleeing from something or creating a situation in which no return is possible. Cash, in conjunction with these things, indicates a desire to not be traced. Combined, very fishy.

I dared to ask a TSA agent why search an 85 year old woman who is in a wheelchair and he said, “last week we found a gun on a 90 year old.” Do you believe that, I don’t?

Well, yes. Yes, I do. You know why? Because in June of last year, an 88 year old man walked into the Holocaust Museum and opened fire. The old are just as capable of harm as the young. Hate doesn't know age, race or religion, and there is no way of looking at someone what is their minds.

All Day, Every Day

"Shhhhhhhhh. shhhhhhhhh. I'm telling you: your voice, my ears. A bad combination."
- Sleep Talking Man

But Could I Bring Myself to Watch It?

In response to Jezebel's coverage of the Palin-Fox agreement, one commentor offers up a vision of what could be:

This could be done right. Let's give her a show where she interviews terrorists and then she says goofy things and winks at the camera while her subjects are befuddled. It can be called "Palin around with Terrorists." Ooh, and she can have a brainy, Middle Eastern sidekick who goes by al-Kafi, and he tries to explain things to her rationally, but she calls him Al Coffee, and always interrupts him to say "just get me a coffee - if I wanted advice, I'd ask for Al Advice." Then she would wink at the camera, and as he scurries for her coffee, she'd get in some product placement and say "Make it a Folger's, none of that half-calf vinny hoo-ha mocha latte ya-ya nonsense for me. We'll leave that for the liberal east coasters!" And then the laughtrack would play. There will have to be a laugh track of course. You betcha.

Dear Christian Bale

Dear Christian Bale,

According to Wikipedia, when it comes to Newsies you are "not a fan of the film." About it you reportedly said, "Time healed those wounds. But it took a while." To which I say:

Get over yourself.

"Time healed those wounds"? Really? You're talking about a Disney musical you made when you were 17. You sang, you danced, you used a terrible accent. You were 17. When I was 17, I was wearing skater pants, Doc Marten's and had a pacifier on my key chain, yet I seem to be able to talk about it without it sounding like I lost my mother in a wildebeest stampede or found my spouse sleeping with the mailman. And yes, okay, so my teenage follies were not committed to film. I doubt my teenage follies ever inspired drinking games, or sing-alongs from the beach or even performed the simple task of making a 23 year old temp worker feel better about her day. My teenage follies did not bring the masses unbridled joy.

I mean, really. Get over yourself. There are worse things you could have been than the King of New York.

Are you really so humorless that you can't enjoy the fact that you were part of this movie? This ludicrous ridiculous, wonderful movie beloved by everyone I know (and probably most people born between 1984 and 1990). Is that really such a blight on your past? You auditioned for Batman and Robin, for Chrissake. You were in that atrocious A Midsummer Night's Dream. You provided a voice for Pocahontas. Has time healed those wounds, I wonder?

I want to like you. Love you, even. You are beautiful and talented and in a host of my favorite movies. Henry V! Little Women! The Prestige! YOU'RE BATMAN FOR F%&*^'S SAKE! It's like you hand-tailored your resume to pluck at my heart strings. But you know what that resume includes? Yeah, that's right. Newsies.

I want to like you, but you make it so hard, what with your vocally abusing that sound guy and the accused assault and the fact that I never see you smile. You were so charming as Laurie! So adorable as the one of Falstaff's boys! And seemed to be having so much fun as Jack Kelly. So why, Christian, why must you push this past of yours away from you? Is it so terrible that before you became a "serious actor" you had a little fun?

Come back, Christian. We miss you, here, in Notajerktopia.

Still jealous of Sarah after all these years,

emma

And You Can Quote Me: Rock 'n' Roll; Tom Stoppard

Max: ...I'm down to one belief, that between theory and practice there's a decent fit — not perfect but decent: ideology and a sensible fair society, it's my double helix and I won't be talked out of it or done out of it or shamed out of it. We just have to be better. (pg. 22)

Interrogator: ... You're not clever, you're simple. And if you're not simple you're complicated. We're supposed to know what's going on inside people. That's why it's the Ministry of the Interior. Are you simple or complicated? Have a biscuit. (pg. 27)

Jan: ..last year, they lost their license — undesirable elements, you know. . .

Max: Undesirable how?

Jan: Their songs are morbid, they dress weird, they look like their on drugs, and one time they sacrificed a chicken on stage, but otherwise it's a mystery. (pg. 33)

Jan: If I were English I wouldn't care if Communism in Czechoslovakia reformed itself into a pile of pig shit. To be English would be my luck. I would be moderately enthusiastic and moderately philistine, and a good sport. I would be kind to foreigners in a moderately superior way and also to animals except the ones I kill, ad I would live a decent life, like most English people, and behave decently in the English way. (pg. 38)

Lenka: What you like about brains, Max, is that they all work in the same way. What you don't like about minds is that they don't. (pg. 58)

Esme: ...Is this all where we're going if we're lucky? A windy corner by a supermarket, with a plastic bag on the handlebars full of, I don't know, ready-meals and loo paper. . .lumpy faces and thickening bodies in forgettable clothes, going home with the shopping? But we were all beautiful then, blazing with beauty... (pg. 70)

Jan: ..We have an arrangement with ourselves not to disturb the appearances. We aim for inertia. We mass-produce banality. (pg. 82)

Jan: ?! (pg. 107)

Uncle Morty Can't Resist Edging in on a Photo

(Hat tip to Katie via HuffingtonPost)

Five Pieces of Clothing I Blame Ann M. Martin For

My morning has been unusually productive, but in between scheduling meetings and making photocopies, I have found ample time to explore What Claudia Wore. Who is Claudia, you ask, and why do we care what she wore? Well, my friend, you have obviously never been a 6 year old girl child. The "Claudia" is one Ms. Claudia Kishi, vice-president of the infamous Baby-Sitter's Club and fashion icon for those of us learning to read in the late 80s/early 90s.

Fact: I really wanted to be Claudia. She was so hip! She was so cool! She was Japanese! An artist! SHE WAS THIRTEEN! I aspired to be all of these things when I was six (yes, including Japanese) and thus, I tried my darndest to also dress like her.

Oh, emma.

To give you a sense, today's five things are five articles of clothing I not only owned but WORE. Not only wore, but thought I looked GREAT in. To my knowledge, none of these specific articles were ever photographed, which is a win for me since not only do I shudder to recall them but I was pretty round little kid back in the day who was also awkwardly taller than all her classmates. Also, all of them were bought and worn with the idea they made me look more like Claudia.

Ah youth.

1. Electric Blue Spandex Stirrup Pants ...yeah, do I really need to say anything else? Except that I bet American Apparel is selling them right now, which means time has taught us nothing.

2. Scottie Dog Shirt In retrospect, this probably leaned more towards "adorable nineties child" wear and less "80's trainwreck," but I recall it specifically because to me, in the first grade, it was something Claudia would have worn. The sleeves were long and black with, I think, some kind of herringbone pattern on the cuffs while the torso was half red and half yellow (front and back, kind of like a jester's coat). On the front were..three? appliqued Scottie dogs with bow ties in a plaid that was either red or yellow depending on which half of the shirt they were on (yellow on red/red on yellow). I really loved this shirt.

3. Purple Corduroy Overalls These were particularly exciting because my Claudia doll had them, too! Except hers were shorts and mine were pants, which meant I couldn't wear hot pink tights underneath in a way anyone would see. Oh well.

4. Puffy Shirt I do not watch Seinfeld, but I am aware there is an episode the revolves around this weird puffy-ruffled shirt. Guess who owned one of those? THIS girl! Oh yeah, was a big fan of that thing. It was white and kind of silky, and I may have owned a second in denim (the denim one? Okay, I admit, there may be a school photo...).

5. Harlequin Mask Pins I found these to be really exciting, and never felt more "hip" and "with it" than when I was wearing them on either side of my purple corduroy overalls.

I am...yeah, I got no words on this one. So I will leave you with a posting from What Claudia Wore. This was the inspiration for all the horror just described. This was the goal of six year old emma's style aspirations:

"For instance, at that Labor Day meeting she was wearing a bracelet of dyed, braided shoelaces, along with a blousy ruffled shirt that looked as if it once belonged to Captain Hook; mismatched high-top Converse sneakers; and baggy, pinstriped men's suit pants, gathered at the waist with a bungee cord. On me, something like that would look like a Halloween costume. On Claudia it looked way cool."

...See?