DISCLAIMER: Now that I'm out of school, my amount of mental stimulation has dropped significantly. The other day, I began a discussion with some friends about which are better; zombies or vampires. Since I had a couple days off and really feel strongly about vampires (more so the former reason than the latter), I decided to write an essay arguing that vampires are superior mythical creatures to zombies. I should really join a club or get a second job or something....
In this essay, I will discuss the advantages of vampires over zombies based on the following parameters: fear factor, fight, sex appeal, friendship and boyfriend-material-ness, popularity/media, myth/lore, and metaphor.
Vampires and zombies both have a place in paranormal pop culture, but vampires are the more significant of the two, given their lasting popularity among all age groups, their stable, yet adaptable legend, and their prominence as a metaphor for real-world outcasts.
I will begin with a basic discussion of the physical attributes of zombies and vampires. Both undead creatures are feared for their strength and ability to destroy humans. Zombies are humans who have died and risen again to either eat human brains or dance in a Michael Jackson video. They move rather slowly, but are not easily destroyed, since they are already dead. They are very ugly, appear to be smelly, and some have appendages attached by simple needle and thread. Vampires are also humans who have died and risen again, but their sole purpose is to terrorize humans, or as they like to call them, food. Vampires are sultry creatures of the night who are driven by a need for human blood. This leads into my argument that vampires are much scarier than zombies. Though the stench and appearance of zombies is quite terrifying, they are much less frightening in concept than vampires. Zombies are always immediately identifiable as zombies. Vampires, however, maintain their human form, and can possibly even improve upon that form. It is a natural first response to run from a zombie, since they are gross and eating human flesh/dancing to Thriller. Vampires, on the other hand, draw a person in using tricks as simple as seduction or as complex as hypnosis. A person might not even know he/she is dealing with a vampire until it is too late and they are lost in the ecstasy/agony of being completely blood-drained by a ferocious and sexy being. Therefore, vampires are far more frightening, because anyone could be a vampire. Zombies have no disguise, no mind tricks, and no speed. Vampires have all this and more. The only thing to defend yourself against a vampire would be a cross, garlic, silver, or a slayer, none of which are carried around by a normal person. While there are fewer things that can defend you against a zombie, a swift chopping off of its head will do the trick. Fire and joining in the Thriller dance can also aid in thwarting the zombie.
Admittedly, humans are weak, so the real challenge to decide between vamps and zombs would be to place the two in a battle against each other. Spoiler alert: Vampire wins. Although the vampire’s powers of seduction and mind games would not work on the zombie (because the zombie has no brain or lust), vampires are better fighters and have greater endurance than zombies. The vampire’s traditional threat – it’s teeth – would also be no use against the zombie, but vampires have many strengths, including strength. Each creature would have to rip the other’s head off to win. The only advantage the zombie would have is it’s brute strength, while the vampire has supernatural strength and speed, and in some cases, the ability to fly. Vampires are also clever, since they have maintained their human mind. Zombies are like the village idiots of the paranormal world. They have lots of strength and are physically capable, but they have no strategy or cleverness about them. A fight between a vampire and a zombie would end rather quickly. The zombie would lumber towards the vamp as the fanged felon casually lights up a cigarette, biding his time (being immortal, he literally has all the time in the world). When the vampire gets tired of waiting for the ridiculously slow zombie to make his way over, the vamp jumps in the air, landing on the zombie’s back, and rips his head off. The zombie didn’t stand a chance.
Sex appeal might seem like an unfair category to discuss when comparing vampires and zombies, considering that zombies are hideous, but it’s a vampire’s greatest strength, and certainly important when later discussing the media explosion of vampires. Though the original portrayal of Dracula by Bela Lugosi was not attractive in the slightest, vampires have come a long way in the looks department. Zombies have gone in the opposite direction. Frankenstein’s monster was vaguely attractive in a Beauty and the Beast sort of way – you could tell he had a soul and had once been beautiful (you know, before he was dug up and composed of various different people’s body parts). Since then, zombies have become diseased humans with exposed skeletons, blotchy skin, and oozing orifices. Vampires have become sex symbols, gracing magazine covers from Tiger Beat to Vogue. The Vampire Lestat, Angel, Bill Compton, and Edward Cullen are some of the most famous vampire hotties. And it’s not just male vampires that are appearing in lusty supernatural fantasies – Kate Beckinsale in Underworld got hearts racing, even though her character’s heart had stopped beating, and Salma Hayek had a memorable scene involving a bikini and a boa constrictor in From Dusk Til Dawn. A zombie has never been a sex symbol. Perhaps zombie killers could be considered sexy, but part of the appeal would be that they’re destroying the ugly.
Sex-appeal aside, who would make a better friend: zombie or vampire? It might seem contradictory to say that vampires would make better friends, considering that earlier in this essay, it was determined that they are more frightening. However, in personal relationships, vampires would prove to be more mentally stimulating and occasionally loyal. As was previously discussed, zombies have no brains, or at least no brain function. They simply exist to destroy humans. Also, they are extremely slow. Imagine going to the mall with your bff, the zombie. It would take an hour just to make it around the food court. He couldn’t offer you any good opinions on clothing options, and he certainly couldn’t grasp the concept of making fun of emo kids in Hot Topic. Also, he would discourage anyone else from talking to you given his appearance and stench. Hanging out with a zombie would basically be like having a really ugly, decomposing dog with you. A vampire friend might be dangerous, but at least it would be exciting. In some cases, vampires have been able to maintain relationships with humans. For example, Angel had a soul, and was thus a great buddy to Buffy and her pals. In True Blood, Bill Compton swears off human blood and drinks only synthetic blood so that he can be with his human love. In Twilight…actually, let’s not talk about Twilight because I refuse to subscribe to the idea of sparkly vampires. A vampire friend would be like having a bodyguard…a really hot bodyguard. A vampire would know all the great place to go at night. True, you couldn’t share garlic bread, but your vampire could tell you stories about what life was like 100 years ago and you could talk to him about what the sun looks like these days. A person would be very lucky to bag themselves a loyal vampire with a soul, because that would be one great friendship.
Lately, zombies and vampires seem to be battling it out for popularity and prominence in the media. Movies like Zombieland and 28 Days Later proved popular with a college crowd. However, there are far more media outlets that vampires have claimed dominance in. TV shows like True Blood and Buffy the Vampire Slayer have developed cult followings, and in Buffy’s case, this following lasts long after the series is off the air. Books range from Anne Rice’s intricate description of a New Orleans vampire to Stephanie Meyer’s inane, yet tween alluring, Twilight. Dracula is a classic novel that is taught in high schools, and has been adapted into films several times. Zombies provide entertainment and fright, but a zombie could never be a main character, given its lack of verbal communication and it’s grotesque appearance. Vampires maintain the lead in the paranormal popularity contest given their ability to appear human and super-human, making them relatable and unattainable—everything a celebrity should be. Zombies will always be a part of horror films, but vampires have successfully preserved their place in mainstream pop culture throughout the years.
The legends of zombies and vampires have changed over the years, and varies depending on who you ask. Zombies are sometimes humans brought back from the dead, and other times they are humans infected with a virus. Some are fast, some are slow. Vampires have even more variation—some can be thwarted by silver, some are bothered by crosses. Some can fly, some can go out during the light, some need coffins. Numerous variations in myth might seem indecisive and inconsistent to a fault, but it leaves room for experimentation. There’s not much to play around with in zombie lore—in all cases, they cannot relate to humans and thus are strictly scary, killing machines. The myth of vampires can be molded to place the creatures in different settings and situations. Your imagination can run wild and you can make up your own rules, given you stay with the basic tenets that vampires drink blood, are supernatural, and are undead. This mutable legend is part of the reasons vampires have maintained popularity. As culture changes, so do vampires. They can go to high school, fall in love with a waitress, or regain their soul. Having a loose, varying legend is a good thing, because this ensures that the myth will be fresh and adaptable for future generations.
These myths not only serve to create great stories and fear, but they also exist as metaphors. No matter what the scenario, vampires are metaphors for the outcast in society. They are not accepted by the general public and cannot even go out in the daylight. They're persecuted for their unconventional ways. Sometimes, the metaphor is for an evil outcast that must be destroyed, such as in Dracula. In other media texts, vampires are symbols of the misunderstood outcast who does not deserve persecution. In True Blood, for example, vampires “come out of the coffin” and reveal themselves to humans in an attempt to “mainstream”. This is a clear allusion to the gay community and their attempts to be accepted by mainstream culture. Another facet of the outcast metaphor is overt sexuality. Vampires exude sex in a society that censors. Vampires stand for raw human sexuality, thus they are hidden under cloak of night and seen as a threat to stability and safety. Twilight (sorry, I didn’t want to talk about it, but it really fits in with this argument) takes the side of cloaking sexuality and uses the vampire metaphor to stress chastity and self-control. Anne Rice’s vampires see feeding on humans as a sexual outlet, insinuating that they survive on sex itself. However it is used, vampires provide a powerful metaphor from something as simple as representing the high school bad boy to something as complex as symbolizing a puritanical society’s fear of sexual expression. Zombies, save for Frankenstein’s monster, represent nothing. Frankenstein was the apex of zombie culture, and everything after that has been for pure fun and fright. There is nothing wrong with a paranormal myth existing purely for entertainment, but this only furthers the point that vampires are more complex and significant creatures. If anything, zombies represent poor hygiene or, at their most complex, biological warfare, but either of those metaphors is a stretch. Zombies are zombies. Vampires are much more.
From Bela Lugosi to Bill Compton, vampires have grown in legend, sex appeal, and popularity. Their mystique has been consistent, but their meaning and power in the pop culture world has changed. Zombies will also have a place in paranormal culture, but as of now, their popularity seems limited to snarky college students. Vampires span the ages and draw in various demographics. A vampire would kill a zombie and then flash a fang-filled smile that makes your heart skip a beat out of both lust and fear. At the base of this argument is that zombies are predictable while vampires, with their adaptable legend and soulless sex appeal, are dangerous and exciting.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Saturday, November 14, 2009
An Enchanting Transition
You may have noticed that I haven’t posted a new blog in awhile (the “you” refers to my mom). Though the last two posts bemoaned the fact that finding a job during the Great Recession is tough, I now have a job, thus the lack of posting. I moved back to South Bend to work at a news station as a production assistant. It’s pretty bottom rung, but I love the work and the atmosphere of the news station, so I’ll just count it as a step toward my future.
Of course, moving to Indiana and starting a job is not without adventure. First, I had to find an apartment. South Bend apartments range from the run-down (recently busted for meth) to the over-priced ($1200/month for a one-bedroom!), but I finally managed to pick one that suited me perfectly. The complex itself has a castle theme, complete with turrets and flags and medieval-looking street lamps (or how I imagine street lamps would look in medieval times if they had electricity). The complex has about 700 apartments divided into sections with quirky little names like The Royal Huntsman’s Court, Coachman’s Trail, and The Royal Vineyards. I managed to score a prime spot in the best building—The Enchanted Forest. That’s right, I live in the Enchanted Forest. Giving my address to strangers at the post office or bank does not come without a smirk or a raised eyebrow. People want to add a “street” or a “road” to the end of the name, but my address is simply “The Enchanted Forest.” Songbirds fly in to dress me each morning and woodland creatures clean my apartment while humming catchy tunes. My mail is delivered on horseback and fairies prepare my meals. Good thing I don’t live on a second floor apartment, or else I would have to grow my hair out in order to have guests over.
In reality, my apartment is very cute and I’ve done a fairly good job of making it homey. I like living alone, except I have to have people over once in a while to bring me back to reality. Too much alone time, and I start losing sense of social graces. Living by myself definitely has it’s perks – watching whatever I want on TV, never having to wear pants, drinking milk straight out of the carton. However, it’s a little strange to laugh out loud by yourself while watching The Office. It’s even stranger when I’ve become so comfortable with it that I start talking to the TV. Every once in a while, I’ll take a step back, re-evaluate, and return to some sense of civility – I’ll put my pants back on, close the bathroom door while showering, stop singing what I’m doing, and open the blinds to give myself encouragement to stay this way. I keep thinking that getting a cat will improve my hermit-ways, but I don’t know if talking to a cat is much better than talking to a television.
To break in my apartment, I’ve had a few get-togethers, and they have been fairly successful. I’m getting better at cooking, though I still manage to make a mess doing the simplest things, like reheating soup on the stove. My first dinner party involved chili and Funfetti cake. The chili turned out great, and all was going well until I cut the cake. As a lifted a piece out of the pan, it pulled away a very noticeable and very long hair from the middle of the cake. Horrified, I pulled it out as quickly as possible, hoping no one would notice. I looked up to see John Minser staring at me, looking partially disgusted, and partially amused at my baking faux pas. I took that piece for myself, and made a mental note to more securely tie my hair back when cooking.
The job is going well, and I’m doing fine living on my own. It’s good to be back in South Bend, where I still have a lot of friends and am familiar with the area. Though I had hoped to end up in a big city (ideally Chicago), this is turning out to be a great transition. Now it’s time for me to go feed the unicorns that live outside my apartment…
Of course, moving to Indiana and starting a job is not without adventure. First, I had to find an apartment. South Bend apartments range from the run-down (recently busted for meth) to the over-priced ($1200/month for a one-bedroom!), but I finally managed to pick one that suited me perfectly. The complex itself has a castle theme, complete with turrets and flags and medieval-looking street lamps (or how I imagine street lamps would look in medieval times if they had electricity). The complex has about 700 apartments divided into sections with quirky little names like The Royal Huntsman’s Court, Coachman’s Trail, and The Royal Vineyards. I managed to score a prime spot in the best building—The Enchanted Forest. That’s right, I live in the Enchanted Forest. Giving my address to strangers at the post office or bank does not come without a smirk or a raised eyebrow. People want to add a “street” or a “road” to the end of the name, but my address is simply “The Enchanted Forest.” Songbirds fly in to dress me each morning and woodland creatures clean my apartment while humming catchy tunes. My mail is delivered on horseback and fairies prepare my meals. Good thing I don’t live on a second floor apartment, or else I would have to grow my hair out in order to have guests over.
In reality, my apartment is very cute and I’ve done a fairly good job of making it homey. I like living alone, except I have to have people over once in a while to bring me back to reality. Too much alone time, and I start losing sense of social graces. Living by myself definitely has it’s perks – watching whatever I want on TV, never having to wear pants, drinking milk straight out of the carton. However, it’s a little strange to laugh out loud by yourself while watching The Office. It’s even stranger when I’ve become so comfortable with it that I start talking to the TV. Every once in a while, I’ll take a step back, re-evaluate, and return to some sense of civility – I’ll put my pants back on, close the bathroom door while showering, stop singing what I’m doing, and open the blinds to give myself encouragement to stay this way. I keep thinking that getting a cat will improve my hermit-ways, but I don’t know if talking to a cat is much better than talking to a television.
To break in my apartment, I’ve had a few get-togethers, and they have been fairly successful. I’m getting better at cooking, though I still manage to make a mess doing the simplest things, like reheating soup on the stove. My first dinner party involved chili and Funfetti cake. The chili turned out great, and all was going well until I cut the cake. As a lifted a piece out of the pan, it pulled away a very noticeable and very long hair from the middle of the cake. Horrified, I pulled it out as quickly as possible, hoping no one would notice. I looked up to see John Minser staring at me, looking partially disgusted, and partially amused at my baking faux pas. I took that piece for myself, and made a mental note to more securely tie my hair back when cooking.
The job is going well, and I’m doing fine living on my own. It’s good to be back in South Bend, where I still have a lot of friends and am familiar with the area. Though I had hoped to end up in a big city (ideally Chicago), this is turning out to be a great transition. Now it’s time for me to go feed the unicorns that live outside my apartment…
Friday, August 21, 2009
Decoding the Job Hunt
If you read my last post, you might begin to understand my frustration in job searching. But the broad reasons I gave are just the tip of the unemployed iceberg. There are countless annoying, ridiculous, senseless, and just plain stupid qualities of the job search that are present regardless of the job market. So if you are an undergrad and want to be discouraged out of graduating, or if you are employed and want to reminisce about how stupid interview etiquette is, then read on.
Emails (or, back in the “old days”, letters) sent to a potential employer must be written in a code that expresses what you want without really saying it. For example, if I am applying for a job at NBC, I send a cover letter that begins something like this:
“As a senior marketing and television major at the University of Notre Dame, I am interested in NBC’s East Coast Page Program. With its worldwide audience, variety of programming, and innovative achievements in new media, NBC is an ideal company to begin my career. I am specifically interested in the Page Program because of the opportunities it provides to explore different departments at NBC and because of its history of successful participants.”
So what did that really mean? Allow me to decipher for you:
“Dear NBC,
I am educated and unemployed. You are a thriving company. I will work for pennies. Hire me.”
Now what’s frustrating is that I can’t actually say that. It would save everyone a lot of time if I could just say, “Look, I have the skills and the education to do this job. Look at my resume and see for yourself. I want this job. Hire me.” But I can’t, because that is improper etiquette.
In the middle of the cover letter, I tout my skills and experiences with the help of a thesaurus because I’ve already used “skills” and “experience” 5 times. Basically, I elaborate on my resume, but wouldn’t a busy HR person rather just glance over my resume than read a lengthy paragraph about how I became so proficient in Final Cut Pro? It says in bold print on my resume that I am proficient in Final Cut Pro. Do they need proof? Is that the reason I need to explain exactly how I rose through the ranks of my college’s television station to become an editor extraordinaire?
Then there’s the last paragraph, which looks like this:
“If selected for the East Coast Page Program, I would commit myself to representing NBC with excellence and hard work. Thank you for your consideration. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me at…”
Translation:
“Please please please please please please please hire me!”
So put it all together, and this is what a decoded cover letter is really saying:
“Hey you, I am educated and skilled. I want this job. Check out my resume. I’m begging for this job!”
Think of how much time we could all save if it were that simple? HR people could take longer coffee breaks. I could use the time I spent looking up synonyms for power adjectives to work on my reel. And at the end of the day, the best person would probably still get hired, because when it comes down to it, they will just look at your resume and who you know.
If you are lucky enough to get an interview, you must learn to speak this mysterious job etiquette code. First, you dress the part by wearing that suit you got for just such occasions, but since you’ve never worn it, you have to take the tags of and get used to how uncomfortable suits are. Then, you pack up your folder with your resume, references, and reel, and head on over to the office. This all sounds doable until you get in there and they ask you something ridiculous like “Why do you want this job?” They’re expecting an answer that flatters their company and expresses your childhood dreams of working at a production house in the old B.F. Goodrich warehouse, so that’s what you tell them. But etiquette aside, the answer would be, “Because I need to make money and gain experience wherever I can get it.” The game goes on for 15 minutes to 3 hours, however narcissistic the employer is, then you leave and wait for their hiring decision.
And you wait.
And wait.
Still waiting.
After a couple weeks of waiting, you haven’t heard a yay or nay from this company. You start to second-guess yourself. Did I flatter them enough? Did I compliment their floor tiling? Did I have a firm handshake? Was it weird that I was wearing a suit and they were wearing jeans? You need an answer, but calling and demanding one would be poor etiquette. So, you send an email that reads something like this:
“Dear Mr. Blank,
I am still very interested in the job opening with Company X. If there is anything else I can do to help with your decision, please do not hesitate to let me know. Thank you!”
Short, sweet, and completely false. By this time, you have given them your resume, cover letter, work samples, list of references, and you’ve taken the special test that all their employees have to take. Unless they need a neck message, there is absolutely nothing you can do to help with their decision. You know what this email really means, and so does the employer. It means, “I’m still here and unemployed!”
Finally, just when you’ve forgotten about the interview, they send you an email saying, “Thank you for applying to the position of X. We had a record number of applicants and can honestly say that the decision was very difficult. Unfortunately, we will not be able to hire you at this time. We will keep your record on file for any future openings.”
This is the job equivalent of “It’s not you, it’s me.” They did not have a record number of applicants, and the decision probably wasn’t that hard, but at least they tried to sugar coat a rejection. What they really mean to say is:
“This other kid was way better than you. Plus, his uncle works here. Sorry, but not really.”
And then the whole vicious cycle of etiquette and lies starts again.
Emails (or, back in the “old days”, letters) sent to a potential employer must be written in a code that expresses what you want without really saying it. For example, if I am applying for a job at NBC, I send a cover letter that begins something like this:
“As a senior marketing and television major at the University of Notre Dame, I am interested in NBC’s East Coast Page Program. With its worldwide audience, variety of programming, and innovative achievements in new media, NBC is an ideal company to begin my career. I am specifically interested in the Page Program because of the opportunities it provides to explore different departments at NBC and because of its history of successful participants.”
So what did that really mean? Allow me to decipher for you:
“Dear NBC,
I am educated and unemployed. You are a thriving company. I will work for pennies. Hire me.”
Now what’s frustrating is that I can’t actually say that. It would save everyone a lot of time if I could just say, “Look, I have the skills and the education to do this job. Look at my resume and see for yourself. I want this job. Hire me.” But I can’t, because that is improper etiquette.
In the middle of the cover letter, I tout my skills and experiences with the help of a thesaurus because I’ve already used “skills” and “experience” 5 times. Basically, I elaborate on my resume, but wouldn’t a busy HR person rather just glance over my resume than read a lengthy paragraph about how I became so proficient in Final Cut Pro? It says in bold print on my resume that I am proficient in Final Cut Pro. Do they need proof? Is that the reason I need to explain exactly how I rose through the ranks of my college’s television station to become an editor extraordinaire?
Then there’s the last paragraph, which looks like this:
“If selected for the East Coast Page Program, I would commit myself to representing NBC with excellence and hard work. Thank you for your consideration. If you have any questions, please feel free to contact me at…”
Translation:
“Please please please please please please please hire me!”
So put it all together, and this is what a decoded cover letter is really saying:
“Hey you, I am educated and skilled. I want this job. Check out my resume. I’m begging for this job!”
Think of how much time we could all save if it were that simple? HR people could take longer coffee breaks. I could use the time I spent looking up synonyms for power adjectives to work on my reel. And at the end of the day, the best person would probably still get hired, because when it comes down to it, they will just look at your resume and who you know.
If you are lucky enough to get an interview, you must learn to speak this mysterious job etiquette code. First, you dress the part by wearing that suit you got for just such occasions, but since you’ve never worn it, you have to take the tags of and get used to how uncomfortable suits are. Then, you pack up your folder with your resume, references, and reel, and head on over to the office. This all sounds doable until you get in there and they ask you something ridiculous like “Why do you want this job?” They’re expecting an answer that flatters their company and expresses your childhood dreams of working at a production house in the old B.F. Goodrich warehouse, so that’s what you tell them. But etiquette aside, the answer would be, “Because I need to make money and gain experience wherever I can get it.” The game goes on for 15 minutes to 3 hours, however narcissistic the employer is, then you leave and wait for their hiring decision.
And you wait.
And wait.
Still waiting.
After a couple weeks of waiting, you haven’t heard a yay or nay from this company. You start to second-guess yourself. Did I flatter them enough? Did I compliment their floor tiling? Did I have a firm handshake? Was it weird that I was wearing a suit and they were wearing jeans? You need an answer, but calling and demanding one would be poor etiquette. So, you send an email that reads something like this:
“Dear Mr. Blank,
I am still very interested in the job opening with Company X. If there is anything else I can do to help with your decision, please do not hesitate to let me know. Thank you!”
Short, sweet, and completely false. By this time, you have given them your resume, cover letter, work samples, list of references, and you’ve taken the special test that all their employees have to take. Unless they need a neck message, there is absolutely nothing you can do to help with their decision. You know what this email really means, and so does the employer. It means, “I’m still here and unemployed!”
Finally, just when you’ve forgotten about the interview, they send you an email saying, “Thank you for applying to the position of X. We had a record number of applicants and can honestly say that the decision was very difficult. Unfortunately, we will not be able to hire you at this time. We will keep your record on file for any future openings.”
This is the job equivalent of “It’s not you, it’s me.” They did not have a record number of applicants, and the decision probably wasn’t that hard, but at least they tried to sugar coat a rejection. What they really mean to say is:
“This other kid was way better than you. Plus, his uncle works here. Sorry, but not really.”
And then the whole vicious cycle of etiquette and lies starts again.
Monday, August 10, 2009
What the Class of '09 is Thinking
It's now been 3 months since I've graduated. I'm living at home with my parents, without a job, and have been out of contact with 20-somethings this entire summer. After working hard all throughout my school life--taking the right classes, getting good grades, going to the right school--I have not obtained what I had been promised--employment in my chosen field. My generation was brought up in a society of encouragement and can-do attitude, where we were promised that we could accomplish anything with a little hard work. Too bad the previous generations screwed that up for us. Now I, along with all the other marketing, political science, english, and other non-accounting majors out there, am stuck in life limbo. We have outstanding resumes, glowing recommendations, and great experience. We have dreams of apartments and city life inspired by Friends and Sex and the City. We have goals of career-oriented success that is symptomatic of my generation's competitive, ambitious, and somewhat entitled nature. Yet, most of us can't even get an interview.
Though the economy is the largest contributor to the class of 2009's plight, the system of job applications is also at fault. Help-wanted signs are not just posted in store fronts, but on websites as a sort of national casting call. When thousands of bright young hopefuls submit their well-polished resumes to the same job, it's the ones who are familiar to the HR director who get noticed. It's all about who you know, but in an age of instant communication, familiarity has many facets. There's the real-life in-person connections--coworkers, friends, family, professors. At this point in my job search, these sources have been tapped out. I've used all the advice they gave me and applied to the job openings they told me about, but nothing worked out. The next level is fellow alumni--using Facebook, LinkedIn, and the ND alumni directory, I can search and stalk any registered alum in any given field. The problem is, so can everyone else. These sources have also become tapped out--they are tired of giving advice, and quite frankly have no new advice to give in an economic situation they are trying to come to terms with themselves. While they would love to help a fellow alum, they simply can't. The third level of familiarity is everyone else in the world. Social networking sites make getting to know someone without their knowledge pretty easy. With just a name and company, I can find out the HR guy's favorite band, girlfriend's name, high school mascot, etc. So you could say that I know him. And if it's really all about who you know, shouldn't I get noticed among the thousands of resumes he has to sort through? It seems these sources are tapped out, too. I guess when your job is to look through all the applications that are flooding your inbox, it's just easier to hire your best friend's nephew than to look for the best person for the job.
Maybe now you are beginning to understand the frustration in unemployment. Granted, I have it much better than some--I am very fortunate to not have loans to pay off and to have parents who support me and let me live at home. This just isn't how I pictured my life at 22. My twenties are being wasted away in a high school throwback. I have potential; I've prepared for a career and now I'm ready to start one. I submit at least 30 applications a week. If I'm lucky enough to hear anything back at all, it's usually an automatic message that says the company isn't hiring at this time, but promising to keep my resume on file. I'm throwing all my personal information into cyberspace and none of it is boomeranging back. It all seemingly gets lost in this cyberspace abyss, though my junkmail has increased. I'm working every day to look for a job, and though I might not be finding anything, I am doing my best. Which leads me to the next section of this essay...
Don't tell me what I should be doing. This goes mostly out to my mom's friends, my dad's golf buddies, my grandma's church friends, the guy at the bank, the receptionist at the doctor's office, and everyone else who feels the need to put their 2-cents in. I realize I might sound cruel and unappreciative, and I know that most people bring up the job thing for lack of something to talk about, but please, talk about the weather instead. Here is my explanation:
1) Do not tell me what job search engines to use. Do you honestly think I haven't heard of mandy.com already? I have explored every crevice of the internet, so unless you just invented a job site that is guaranteed to hire me, don't bother.
2) Do not assume that because I majored in marketing, I want to go into sales. I am not a people-person (can't you tell?) and in this economic climate, sales is the last thing I want to do. Also, I want to go into videography or television production, so don't make me give up on that just yet.
3a) Do not say "It's all about who you know" and...
3b) Do not push your contacts on me. I have figured out by now that networking is key, but unless you personally know Al Roker, I don't care that your uncle's best friend's cousin has a quaint little marketing company in Kansas. Also, I don't like feeling like I owe you for something I didn't want in the first place.
4) Do not say "Man, I wish I had time like you have. Being unemployed sounds great." How insulting of you to think I want to be in this situation and that it's ideal or enjoyable for me to be squandering away untapped potential and thousands of dollars of education. You're job may be hard, but you have one in an economic climate when so many others don't.
5) Do not look at me with sympathy or treat me like I am pathetic. The worst part of this is feeling like a sad example of the nation's downturn. I am not pathetic. I am working on finding work. If I had graduated any other year, I would have work, so do not assume that I am lazy or unqualified or pathetic.
The moral of this story is don't bring up the job thing. If you truly have a connection or know of an opening in videography or television production, then by all means, let me know. Otherwise, this is my problem to solve, not yours. To all those in the same situation, this sucks, huh? We've been dealt a horrible hand, but I guess we just have to play it out. To quote one of the less annoying comments people make about my situation, "At least you're not alone." With more people applying to grad school, that option might be more difficult than expected, too. At least I have plenty of time to bump up those GRE scores...
Though the economy is the largest contributor to the class of 2009's plight, the system of job applications is also at fault. Help-wanted signs are not just posted in store fronts, but on websites as a sort of national casting call. When thousands of bright young hopefuls submit their well-polished resumes to the same job, it's the ones who are familiar to the HR director who get noticed. It's all about who you know, but in an age of instant communication, familiarity has many facets. There's the real-life in-person connections--coworkers, friends, family, professors. At this point in my job search, these sources have been tapped out. I've used all the advice they gave me and applied to the job openings they told me about, but nothing worked out. The next level is fellow alumni--using Facebook, LinkedIn, and the ND alumni directory, I can search and stalk any registered alum in any given field. The problem is, so can everyone else. These sources have also become tapped out--they are tired of giving advice, and quite frankly have no new advice to give in an economic situation they are trying to come to terms with themselves. While they would love to help a fellow alum, they simply can't. The third level of familiarity is everyone else in the world. Social networking sites make getting to know someone without their knowledge pretty easy. With just a name and company, I can find out the HR guy's favorite band, girlfriend's name, high school mascot, etc. So you could say that I know him. And if it's really all about who you know, shouldn't I get noticed among the thousands of resumes he has to sort through? It seems these sources are tapped out, too. I guess when your job is to look through all the applications that are flooding your inbox, it's just easier to hire your best friend's nephew than to look for the best person for the job.
Maybe now you are beginning to understand the frustration in unemployment. Granted, I have it much better than some--I am very fortunate to not have loans to pay off and to have parents who support me and let me live at home. This just isn't how I pictured my life at 22. My twenties are being wasted away in a high school throwback. I have potential; I've prepared for a career and now I'm ready to start one. I submit at least 30 applications a week. If I'm lucky enough to hear anything back at all, it's usually an automatic message that says the company isn't hiring at this time, but promising to keep my resume on file. I'm throwing all my personal information into cyberspace and none of it is boomeranging back. It all seemingly gets lost in this cyberspace abyss, though my junkmail has increased. I'm working every day to look for a job, and though I might not be finding anything, I am doing my best. Which leads me to the next section of this essay...
Don't tell me what I should be doing. This goes mostly out to my mom's friends, my dad's golf buddies, my grandma's church friends, the guy at the bank, the receptionist at the doctor's office, and everyone else who feels the need to put their 2-cents in. I realize I might sound cruel and unappreciative, and I know that most people bring up the job thing for lack of something to talk about, but please, talk about the weather instead. Here is my explanation:
1) Do not tell me what job search engines to use. Do you honestly think I haven't heard of mandy.com already? I have explored every crevice of the internet, so unless you just invented a job site that is guaranteed to hire me, don't bother.
2) Do not assume that because I majored in marketing, I want to go into sales. I am not a people-person (can't you tell?) and in this economic climate, sales is the last thing I want to do. Also, I want to go into videography or television production, so don't make me give up on that just yet.
3a) Do not say "It's all about who you know" and...
3b) Do not push your contacts on me. I have figured out by now that networking is key, but unless you personally know Al Roker, I don't care that your uncle's best friend's cousin has a quaint little marketing company in Kansas. Also, I don't like feeling like I owe you for something I didn't want in the first place.
4) Do not say "Man, I wish I had time like you have. Being unemployed sounds great." How insulting of you to think I want to be in this situation and that it's ideal or enjoyable for me to be squandering away untapped potential and thousands of dollars of education. You're job may be hard, but you have one in an economic climate when so many others don't.
5) Do not look at me with sympathy or treat me like I am pathetic. The worst part of this is feeling like a sad example of the nation's downturn. I am not pathetic. I am working on finding work. If I had graduated any other year, I would have work, so do not assume that I am lazy or unqualified or pathetic.
The moral of this story is don't bring up the job thing. If you truly have a connection or know of an opening in videography or television production, then by all means, let me know. Otherwise, this is my problem to solve, not yours. To all those in the same situation, this sucks, huh? We've been dealt a horrible hand, but I guess we just have to play it out. To quote one of the less annoying comments people make about my situation, "At least you're not alone." With more people applying to grad school, that option might be more difficult than expected, too. At least I have plenty of time to bump up those GRE scores...
Friday, July 24, 2009
Yahners vs. Europe Part 4: St. John's Pyrotechnic Party
At this point, you might be thinking "Geez, another installment of Yahners vs. Europe? Hasn't there been enough wacky European adventures?" Perhaps, and this same thought might have crossed each of our minds as we were on vacation, but we still have two more stops to make. Just deal with it and keep reading.
Our drive to the coastal towns of Cinqueterre started off fine. We navigated our way through the highway and to the main roads. When the streets got increasingly narrow and decreasingly even, things got a little dicey. We were using my GPS for directions, and so far, she had steered us correctly. But I should have known something would go wrong. She did once tell me to turn right at the end of a cul-de-sac, so I knew that she had a mean streak. We started driving through a very small town none of us had ever heard of when the GPS told us to turn right. The only street to the right was a narrow cobblestone alley that was too curvey to see where it led. Despite what now seems like an obvious mistake, we trusted the GPS, and to the shock of the old men sitting outside, enjoying their cappuccino, we went up the street. The road was so narrow that you could reach out of any window and touch a building. The people we passed gave us strange looks and it gradually dawned on us that this wasn't right. However, it was possible to turn around and the GPS kept encouraging us to go forward, so go forward we did. Pretty soon, we came to a dead end. The GPS insisted that the correct way to drive was through the house immediately in front of us, but we were sick of her shenanigans. After carefully maneuvering around, we were able to drive back down, where the old men were still sitting outside, probably wondering why the dumb Americans just drove up their neighbor's driveway.
Unfortunately, our driving woes did not end there. Though they weren't as narrow as the road we mistakenly took, the roads that actually led to the town were pretty tight. At one point, a van was coming the opposite direction and we both realized it would be impossible for us to pass each other. We stopped and waved the van on. The van stopped and backed up to let us through, but in doing so, backed off the road and got its back tire stuck in a ditch. Several Italians came from out of nowhere to help the poor van drivers, who turned out to be German tourists who spoke no Italian. We tried to help, but being American tourists who spoke little Italian and no German, we couldn't really do much. Dad tried helped in trying to push the van out of the ditch, but nothing worked. We felt bad for the German tourists stuck in the little town of Pignone with their paper road map, but there was nothing left for us to do. We turned on our GPS, carefully turned around, and tried once again to find our way to Cinqueterre.
After way too many extremely sharp turns and uphill climbs, we finally made it to the town of Monterooso al Mare, one of the 5 towns of the Cinqueterre. Our hotel was very modern and very close to the beach. Cinqueterre is beautiful, with clear blue water, colorful flowers, and hiking trails between each town. It was a nice place to relax during all our sightseeing.
Though they are beautiful, the beaches of Cinqueterre aren't your typical sandy beach. It is all rocks and the water is freezing, so getting up the courage to go swimming took a while. After walking barefoot on thousands of little stones, you would be struck by ice cold waves. Jumping in didn't make it better, and inching in just gave you more time to reason out why you shouldn't go in at all. The first day, nobody went in past their hips. The second day, my dad and I were determined to swim out to a big rock and jump off of it. After Alex decided he was too much of a pansy for this adventure and went back to the hotel, my dad and I edged into the water. We fought the cold and made it to the rock, which was kind of difficult to climb because it was so slippery. But jumping off was a ton of fun and made the effort totally worth it. After jumping I was all smiles and having fun until my dad said, "What happened to your face?!" Apparently, I'm not as cool as I think I am since I got a bloody nose upon hitting the water. Nevertheless, we jumped again (mostly so my mom could take pictures) then swam back to shore to warm up. Once at shore, my dad and I realized that the barnacles from the rocks had cut our legs up pretty badly and we were both bleeding. We are really hard core.
Our second night in Cinqueterre, we headed into the old part of Monterosso al Mare to see the celebration of the feast day of St. John the Baptist. It had started earlier in the day with a Mass and a concert in the church--typical religious stuff. Then, it progressed into not-so-typical religious stuff, including a sack race and fireworks. The fireworks display did not seem very well-prepared and was the most frightening fireworks show I've ever seen. After the local children placed floating candles in the sea (it was very beautiful), everyone gathered by the beach to watch the fireworks. I figured the fireworks would be going off at another beach. Wrong. The fireworks were being lit at the beach where the big crowd was. These fireworks were so close and so big it looked like we were being attacked. Not all the fireworks went up in the air. Some (mistakenly) shot off into the ocean or on the ground. While my mom and I cowered, Alex and my dad cheered. Amazingly, no one got hurt.
To continue the pyrotechnic spectacular, there was a giant bonfire the next night. It was held on the same beach that the fireworks were set off at and it was the biggest bonfire I've ever seen. It makes sense, though, since you know how St. John just loved bonfires...and fireworks...and sack races...
Even though we only stayed there for 2 nigts, I could go on and on about Cinqueterre. The seafood is delicious, as are the lemon products. The hiking is awesome (though a little steep sometimes). The scenery is beautiful, the towns are quaint, and the people are very friendly. It was nice to see a part of Italy I hadn't been to before, and especially nice that it hasn't been jaded by too much tourism yet. From Cinqueterre, we went to Rome--my favorite Italian city and the exact opposite of Cinqueterre.
Our drive to the coastal towns of Cinqueterre started off fine. We navigated our way through the highway and to the main roads. When the streets got increasingly narrow and decreasingly even, things got a little dicey. We were using my GPS for directions, and so far, she had steered us correctly. But I should have known something would go wrong. She did once tell me to turn right at the end of a cul-de-sac, so I knew that she had a mean streak. We started driving through a very small town none of us had ever heard of when the GPS told us to turn right. The only street to the right was a narrow cobblestone alley that was too curvey to see where it led. Despite what now seems like an obvious mistake, we trusted the GPS, and to the shock of the old men sitting outside, enjoying their cappuccino, we went up the street. The road was so narrow that you could reach out of any window and touch a building. The people we passed gave us strange looks and it gradually dawned on us that this wasn't right. However, it was possible to turn around and the GPS kept encouraging us to go forward, so go forward we did. Pretty soon, we came to a dead end. The GPS insisted that the correct way to drive was through the house immediately in front of us, but we were sick of her shenanigans. After carefully maneuvering around, we were able to drive back down, where the old men were still sitting outside, probably wondering why the dumb Americans just drove up their neighbor's driveway.
Unfortunately, our driving woes did not end there. Though they weren't as narrow as the road we mistakenly took, the roads that actually led to the town were pretty tight. At one point, a van was coming the opposite direction and we both realized it would be impossible for us to pass each other. We stopped and waved the van on. The van stopped and backed up to let us through, but in doing so, backed off the road and got its back tire stuck in a ditch. Several Italians came from out of nowhere to help the poor van drivers, who turned out to be German tourists who spoke no Italian. We tried to help, but being American tourists who spoke little Italian and no German, we couldn't really do much. Dad tried helped in trying to push the van out of the ditch, but nothing worked. We felt bad for the German tourists stuck in the little town of Pignone with their paper road map, but there was nothing left for us to do. We turned on our GPS, carefully turned around, and tried once again to find our way to Cinqueterre.
After way too many extremely sharp turns and uphill climbs, we finally made it to the town of Monterooso al Mare, one of the 5 towns of the Cinqueterre. Our hotel was very modern and very close to the beach. Cinqueterre is beautiful, with clear blue water, colorful flowers, and hiking trails between each town. It was a nice place to relax during all our sightseeing.
Though they are beautiful, the beaches of Cinqueterre aren't your typical sandy beach. It is all rocks and the water is freezing, so getting up the courage to go swimming took a while. After walking barefoot on thousands of little stones, you would be struck by ice cold waves. Jumping in didn't make it better, and inching in just gave you more time to reason out why you shouldn't go in at all. The first day, nobody went in past their hips. The second day, my dad and I were determined to swim out to a big rock and jump off of it. After Alex decided he was too much of a pansy for this adventure and went back to the hotel, my dad and I edged into the water. We fought the cold and made it to the rock, which was kind of difficult to climb because it was so slippery. But jumping off was a ton of fun and made the effort totally worth it. After jumping I was all smiles and having fun until my dad said, "What happened to your face?!" Apparently, I'm not as cool as I think I am since I got a bloody nose upon hitting the water. Nevertheless, we jumped again (mostly so my mom could take pictures) then swam back to shore to warm up. Once at shore, my dad and I realized that the barnacles from the rocks had cut our legs up pretty badly and we were both bleeding. We are really hard core.
Our second night in Cinqueterre, we headed into the old part of Monterosso al Mare to see the celebration of the feast day of St. John the Baptist. It had started earlier in the day with a Mass and a concert in the church--typical religious stuff. Then, it progressed into not-so-typical religious stuff, including a sack race and fireworks. The fireworks display did not seem very well-prepared and was the most frightening fireworks show I've ever seen. After the local children placed floating candles in the sea (it was very beautiful), everyone gathered by the beach to watch the fireworks. I figured the fireworks would be going off at another beach. Wrong. The fireworks were being lit at the beach where the big crowd was. These fireworks were so close and so big it looked like we were being attacked. Not all the fireworks went up in the air. Some (mistakenly) shot off into the ocean or on the ground. While my mom and I cowered, Alex and my dad cheered. Amazingly, no one got hurt.
To continue the pyrotechnic spectacular, there was a giant bonfire the next night. It was held on the same beach that the fireworks were set off at and it was the biggest bonfire I've ever seen. It makes sense, though, since you know how St. John just loved bonfires...and fireworks...and sack races...
Even though we only stayed there for 2 nigts, I could go on and on about Cinqueterre. The seafood is delicious, as are the lemon products. The hiking is awesome (though a little steep sometimes). The scenery is beautiful, the towns are quaint, and the people are very friendly. It was nice to see a part of Italy I hadn't been to before, and especially nice that it hasn't been jaded by too much tourism yet. From Cinqueterre, we went to Rome--my favorite Italian city and the exact opposite of Cinqueterre.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Yahners vs. Europe Part 3: I Would Give My Right Arm To Be In Tuscany
After picking up a rental car in Venice and figuring out how to make the built-in GPS speak English, we hit the highway, which was full of tunnels and speed racers. We made it to Siena, where we stayed at the Hotel Caterina. The hotel was beautiful, with a garden overlooking the Tuscan hills and rooms with the charm described in the many Tuscan travel books that are now so popular. After receiving a parking ticket, we figured out that we should park in the hotel's parking lot instead of at the bus stop. An American man staying at the hotel noticed Alex's ND hat and snorted "Notre Dame fan?" to which my brother replied, "Yeah, my sister just graduated from there." The angry man said, "Oh yeah, got a job yet?" "Umm, no, still looking. It's a tough market right now," I responded, trying to sound friendly and wondering what this guy's problem was. "Right, I guess," the man retorted. He then proceeded to tell me how he's such good friends with that travel book guy, Mike Steves. I'm assuming he meant Rick Steves because I get my close friends' names wrong all the time, too. Or perhaps Rick has a brother who writes a less popular travel book series. Whatever the case, the man dropped the Steves thing when I mentioned that I had met Rick Steves' son since he was in my class at ND. He then decided to tell me about how close he was with the Jenkins family. When he found out I didn't know any of the Jenkins kids who are currently students, he seemed a tad triumphant. We kept running into this guy throughout our stay and he kept being weird.
We spent our first night in Siena walking around the city, checking at the campo and watching a basketball tournament. Siena is really beautiful, and it was cool to see at night since I had only been there during the day before.
Since we had a car, we decided to do some traveling throughout Tuscany. The first trip we made was to Greve in the Chianti region. On our way out of Siena, we stopped at a gas station. Apparently, you can't pump your own gas in New Jersey because of the Italian influence. We were surprised when a man greeted us at our car and, not only pumped our gas for us, but also offered us some candy from a little dish. The way to Greve was not on a highway, but on curvy country roads. It was a very uncomfortable experience that left me wishing we had taken the train instead, but my dad is a great driver so we made it there in one piece (but perhaps a little greener...). Greve is a very cute town--small and quaint with lots of wine shops. We sampled some traditional Tuscan pasta with wild boar sauce and tasted some wine at one of the enotecas.
Later that night when we had gotten back to Siena, my brother and I went to the Torture Museum. I had previously been to the Torture Museum in San Gimignano, which has a focus on the death penalty, but this one's focus was on crime punishment. They are probably my favorite museums in Italy because they are so unique and nearly always empty and very accessible and entertaining.
The next day, we took a train to Florence, since we decided that driving to the city might get a little tricky. I warned against going to Florence--the city is jaded and has as many tourists as Rome with half the size. Siena's cathedral is prettier and Rome's food is better, so there's really nothing good about Florence (except that it's better than Pisa. Don't even get me started on that wasteland). Despite Florence's lack of authentic Italian charm, it is something you should see. We saw the David, which is quite impressive, and the Duomo, which is only impressive on the outside. The best part of the day was the Salvatore Ferragamo museum, which housed some of Ferragamo's most eccentric and elaborate creations, as well as the shoes of some famous actresses, such as Marilyn Monroe and Audrey Hepburn. The shoes were made of everything from antelope to zebra, including lizard, sea leopard, and sting ray. In case going to this museum made you feel too frivolous, the sign outside assured tourists that all proceeds go to funding annual scholarships for young shoe designers. I felt much more charitable after reading that.
In Florence, we also stopped at the Festival del Gelato--a huge gelato shop with tons of flavors. Feeling adventurous, I got rose flavored gelato. It tasted like soap.
At this point in our vacation, I began to notice something peculiar about the way my mother read information signs. She would look at it and ask me what it said. I would tell her, assuming she just couldn't see it. But then I noticed that she would ask me to read a sign to her when we were nearly on top of it, and then would seem impressed after I read it. It turns out she hadn't been noticing the English translations directly beneath the Italian description and thought I was really translating the written Italian quite well. I should have let her keep on thinking that, but being the kind, selfless person I am, I directed her to the English translations.
Our last Tuscan adventure was to Montelcino, a charming little hill town. We drove there, but thankfully, the roads were not as devil-may-care as the ones leading to Greve. The scenery along the way was gorgeous, with sprawling vineyards and hills dotted with cypress trees. The town itself was very hilly and had a medieval charm because of its fortress converted into an enoteca. Upon a friend's recommendation, we went to a little family-owned restaurant and got pici pasta with bread crumbs and olive oil. It was a delicious meal, complete with Barry White music playing the entire time.
The next day, we left Siena to head for Cinqueterre, but first we needed to see the cathedral. It's my favorite church in Italy because of its green and white striped marble and the beautiful frescoes. Though I had been to the cathedral before, something was new: at the altar there was a glass case with an elaborate object inside and a sign that simply said "Il Braccio Destro di San Giovanni Battista"--the right arm of St. John the Baptist. It was very cool, but kind of took us by surprise since we weren't expecting to see any dismembered saints that day. After seeing this, our time in Tuscany was complete and we headed to the coast.
We spent our first night in Siena walking around the city, checking at the campo and watching a basketball tournament. Siena is really beautiful, and it was cool to see at night since I had only been there during the day before.
Since we had a car, we decided to do some traveling throughout Tuscany. The first trip we made was to Greve in the Chianti region. On our way out of Siena, we stopped at a gas station. Apparently, you can't pump your own gas in New Jersey because of the Italian influence. We were surprised when a man greeted us at our car and, not only pumped our gas for us, but also offered us some candy from a little dish. The way to Greve was not on a highway, but on curvy country roads. It was a very uncomfortable experience that left me wishing we had taken the train instead, but my dad is a great driver so we made it there in one piece (but perhaps a little greener...). Greve is a very cute town--small and quaint with lots of wine shops. We sampled some traditional Tuscan pasta with wild boar sauce and tasted some wine at one of the enotecas.
Later that night when we had gotten back to Siena, my brother and I went to the Torture Museum. I had previously been to the Torture Museum in San Gimignano, which has a focus on the death penalty, but this one's focus was on crime punishment. They are probably my favorite museums in Italy because they are so unique and nearly always empty and very accessible and entertaining.
The next day, we took a train to Florence, since we decided that driving to the city might get a little tricky. I warned against going to Florence--the city is jaded and has as many tourists as Rome with half the size. Siena's cathedral is prettier and Rome's food is better, so there's really nothing good about Florence (except that it's better than Pisa. Don't even get me started on that wasteland). Despite Florence's lack of authentic Italian charm, it is something you should see. We saw the David, which is quite impressive, and the Duomo, which is only impressive on the outside. The best part of the day was the Salvatore Ferragamo museum, which housed some of Ferragamo's most eccentric and elaborate creations, as well as the shoes of some famous actresses, such as Marilyn Monroe and Audrey Hepburn. The shoes were made of everything from antelope to zebra, including lizard, sea leopard, and sting ray. In case going to this museum made you feel too frivolous, the sign outside assured tourists that all proceeds go to funding annual scholarships for young shoe designers. I felt much more charitable after reading that.
In Florence, we also stopped at the Festival del Gelato--a huge gelato shop with tons of flavors. Feeling adventurous, I got rose flavored gelato. It tasted like soap.
At this point in our vacation, I began to notice something peculiar about the way my mother read information signs. She would look at it and ask me what it said. I would tell her, assuming she just couldn't see it. But then I noticed that she would ask me to read a sign to her when we were nearly on top of it, and then would seem impressed after I read it. It turns out she hadn't been noticing the English translations directly beneath the Italian description and thought I was really translating the written Italian quite well. I should have let her keep on thinking that, but being the kind, selfless person I am, I directed her to the English translations.
Our last Tuscan adventure was to Montelcino, a charming little hill town. We drove there, but thankfully, the roads were not as devil-may-care as the ones leading to Greve. The scenery along the way was gorgeous, with sprawling vineyards and hills dotted with cypress trees. The town itself was very hilly and had a medieval charm because of its fortress converted into an enoteca. Upon a friend's recommendation, we went to a little family-owned restaurant and got pici pasta with bread crumbs and olive oil. It was a delicious meal, complete with Barry White music playing the entire time.
The next day, we left Siena to head for Cinqueterre, but first we needed to see the cathedral. It's my favorite church in Italy because of its green and white striped marble and the beautiful frescoes. Though I had been to the cathedral before, something was new: at the altar there was a glass case with an elaborate object inside and a sign that simply said "Il Braccio Destro di San Giovanni Battista"--the right arm of St. John the Baptist. It was very cool, but kind of took us by surprise since we weren't expecting to see any dismembered saints that day. After seeing this, our time in Tuscany was complete and we headed to the coast.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Yahners vs. Europe Part 2: The Glass Island
Venice is a beautiful city, containing rich history, unique structure, and wonderful culture. However, what stands out most to me is Venice’s narrow, labyrinth-like streets. I guess when there are no cars, a grid-structure isn’t all that necessary. But after lugging suitcases around the cobblestone streets for an hour, trying to find our hotel, the charm of ancient streets had worn thin. We eventually found the hotel (and found out that we had been near it all along, just not on the direct street to it). Our hotel was over 1000 years old, though it had modern comforts. Still, my mom complained that it was “dingy” and continued to note that all the hotels in Italy seemed “old.” I guess when you come from a country that’s only about 250 years old, its tough to get used to hotels that have been built further back than you can track your ancestry.
After a long day of traveling and getting lost, we didn’t want to bother with searching for a good restaurant, so we picked the first one we saw. It was a horrible introduction into Italian food, because it did not taste like Italian cuisine—more like Beefaroni. I guess we had made the classic tourist mistake of going to a restaurant with a “tourist menu.”
The next day we made another classic tourist mistake—accepting a tour. Actually, we didn’t so much accept a tour as we were forced into it. While my mom and brother were still getting ready for the day, my dad and I went to the hotel front desk to ask what water taxi we should take to get to the island of Murano. Immediately, the man at the desk was on the phone and 5 minutes later, Paolo showed up, saying he was ready to take us to Murano. My dad and I just kind of stared at him for a second, not really knowing what to do. We didn’t want to pay for a taxi—a water bus would be just fine. However, we felt obligated to take the taxi since Paolo was already there, so my dad got the rest of the family and we followed Paolo out the door. It turns out that Paolo was not the taxi driver—his job was to lead us to Stefano, who would give us a private ride over to Murano. Once we reached Murano, we expected to pay Stefano and be on our way. However, as a scraggly looking Italian man helped us onto the dock and started talking about the glass gallery’s “promotional season,” we realized that we had gotten into more than just a taxi ride. We were given a private tour of the Marco Polo glass gallery—it was incredible to see the chandeliers being made and the endless amounts of glass sculptures throughout the gallery. We even got to meet the master craftsman who is the 6th generation to make gold etchings onto glass. It was all very lovely, but we couldn’t help feeling nervous the entire time about the cost of this tour. We hadn’t paid anyone yet and surely all three Italian men would get a cut. How much could this cost? 300 euro? 500 euro? The glass sculptures themselves were 1000s of euros, so a tour of the gallery must not be cheap. We tried to put that out of our minds and just enjoy the tour. We disappointed our guide when we didn’t buy anything, but after being bamboozled, we weren’t in a purchasing mood.
After exploring more of the island of Murano (which is mostly just glass galleries), my mom found a vase she really liked and bought it. The man selling it wrapped it up in about 50 layers of tissue paper and bubble wrap even though he said the glass was like “Bruce Willis because it is unbreakable.” The rest of the photos from that day make it look like we adopted a little Venetian baby, all wrapped up in blankets.
We saw all the traditional sites of Venice—St. Mark’s Square, the Realto Bridge, the Cathedral, etc. After spending 2 days in Venice, we checked out of our hotel and waited to see the damage done to our bill by the glass tour. There was no charge. Turns out we weren’t as hoodwinked as we thought. Every purchase after that was justified by “Well, we got that tour for free so…”
After a long day of traveling and getting lost, we didn’t want to bother with searching for a good restaurant, so we picked the first one we saw. It was a horrible introduction into Italian food, because it did not taste like Italian cuisine—more like Beefaroni. I guess we had made the classic tourist mistake of going to a restaurant with a “tourist menu.”
The next day we made another classic tourist mistake—accepting a tour. Actually, we didn’t so much accept a tour as we were forced into it. While my mom and brother were still getting ready for the day, my dad and I went to the hotel front desk to ask what water taxi we should take to get to the island of Murano. Immediately, the man at the desk was on the phone and 5 minutes later, Paolo showed up, saying he was ready to take us to Murano. My dad and I just kind of stared at him for a second, not really knowing what to do. We didn’t want to pay for a taxi—a water bus would be just fine. However, we felt obligated to take the taxi since Paolo was already there, so my dad got the rest of the family and we followed Paolo out the door. It turns out that Paolo was not the taxi driver—his job was to lead us to Stefano, who would give us a private ride over to Murano. Once we reached Murano, we expected to pay Stefano and be on our way. However, as a scraggly looking Italian man helped us onto the dock and started talking about the glass gallery’s “promotional season,” we realized that we had gotten into more than just a taxi ride. We were given a private tour of the Marco Polo glass gallery—it was incredible to see the chandeliers being made and the endless amounts of glass sculptures throughout the gallery. We even got to meet the master craftsman who is the 6th generation to make gold etchings onto glass. It was all very lovely, but we couldn’t help feeling nervous the entire time about the cost of this tour. We hadn’t paid anyone yet and surely all three Italian men would get a cut. How much could this cost? 300 euro? 500 euro? The glass sculptures themselves were 1000s of euros, so a tour of the gallery must not be cheap. We tried to put that out of our minds and just enjoy the tour. We disappointed our guide when we didn’t buy anything, but after being bamboozled, we weren’t in a purchasing mood.
After exploring more of the island of Murano (which is mostly just glass galleries), my mom found a vase she really liked and bought it. The man selling it wrapped it up in about 50 layers of tissue paper and bubble wrap even though he said the glass was like “Bruce Willis because it is unbreakable.” The rest of the photos from that day make it look like we adopted a little Venetian baby, all wrapped up in blankets.
We saw all the traditional sites of Venice—St. Mark’s Square, the Realto Bridge, the Cathedral, etc. After spending 2 days in Venice, we checked out of our hotel and waited to see the damage done to our bill by the glass tour. There was no charge. Turns out we weren’t as hoodwinked as we thought. Every purchase after that was justified by “Well, we got that tour for free so…”
Sunday, July 05, 2009
Yahners vs. Europe Part 1: The Hills Are Alive
Ever since I spent a semester abroad in Rome, my family has been planning a trip to Europe to experience the sites for themselves. The time for the great Yahners in Europe adventure came on June 11th, or so we had planned. We arrive at the Cleveland airport in plenty of time to make our flight to Philadelphia, where we would get a flight to Munich. Unfortunately, due to weather on the east coast, our flight to Philly had been delayed nearly 4 hours already, which would cause us to miss our connection. Super. So, after some pouting and rebooking for the next day, we grabbed our suitcases and went home. It was kind of a huge let down since we had totally closed the house down—shut all the doors, gotten rid of all the food, set up our vacation answering machine. Fortunately, our flight the next day was not cancelled or delayed and we made it to Philly in time to catch our flight to Munich. What’s even more exciting is that we saw Al Roker of the Today Show in the Cleveland airport. Alex said it was a sign that I was supposed to talk to him and ask him for a job. Though Al Roker seems much nicer than Matt and definitely nicer than Ann, I was too nervous to bother America’s favorite weatherman.
We arrived in Munich and hit the ground running since we now only had one day in the city. Our main goal was to find the statue of Maximillion II. My great grandparents used to live near Munich and owned some sweet nightclubs. I guess these nightclubs were so cool, that the guy who designed the statue of Max that would go in the square gave my great (or great great?) grandparents the original model. This model now sits in my grandmother’s house and before we left my mom was looking at it and almost broke it. When I had visited Munich, I searched for the Max statue but did not find it. After asking the concierge at the hotel about it and consulting a map, we finally found Max. The statue is permanently in the middle of a square, but currently in the middle of some sort of carnival. It was difficult to get a picture with him with all the food tents and beer steins around us, but it was cool to see the giant version of what we’ve always been forced to admire at Oma’s house.
We were so exhausted from the flight that we needed to take a nap. However, my dad can’t nap or sit still ever, so he went down to the lobby and made a new German friend—Peter—who bought him a beer. I was actually surprised at how much German my dad remembered from his summer studying in Austria, but he did pretty well, or at least pretended to and we didn’t know the difference because none of us speak a word of German.
After a day in Munich, we took the train to Salzburg, Austria. The first thing we did there was take the Sound of Music tour because we are tourists and love busses. The tour was actually very nice and focused more on seeing sites around Austria than it did on just the movie. However, during the bus ride from place to place, they blared songs from the film as loudly as if they were a rap song with some heavy base. My eardrums were nearly shattered by an overly loud rendition of My Favorite Things. The best thing about the bus tour was Barbara. Barbara was cranky and apparently didn’t really want to go on the Sound of Music tour, though I don’t know how you could mistakenly get on this tour thinking it was something else considering the side of the bus had a giant picture of Julie Andrews singing her heart out. Barbara continuously complained to her spineless husband that she wanted off this bus immediately and wanted to take a different bus tour. At one point, the bus started slowing down due to traffic and Barbara started to get up, saying “Let’s get off now, come on,” but the husband advised her to wait until the bus actually stopped moving and got to a parking spot before she debussed. Finally, after much complaining to her husband and the tour guide, Barbara was let off in the middle of the street where she wandered off to something else to complain about.
During our next day in Salzburg, we took a lift up to the top of a mountain to see some great views and do some hiking. Since it was so high up, the air was pretty thin and the hiking was a little difficult. Therefore, when Alex asked my mother to hike a little more down the trail, she refused. He tried convincing her by saying, “But there’s a cross up ahead. We could just go to there.” She responded with, “I don’t care if God himself is up there, I’m not hiking up that hill.” And that was that.
The steep incline and thin air was not the only thing plaguing my mother on the top of the Austrian mountain. There were also large black birds flying around that, according to her, would peck your eyes out given the chance. When one bird landed close to us, I got my camera out to take a picture. Just as I was setting up the shot, something scared the bird and it flew away. I looked over to my mom who had several more rocks in her hands, prepared to throw at any more dangerous birds that should come our way.
Though the views were enough to keep us occupied on the mountain, there were also signs with old Austrian folklore on them, mostly having to do with gnomes. The tales made little sense and didn’t really have a moral at the ending. They were mostly just about hikers finding gnomes and then these gnomes might be nice, or they might be mean, or they might just go on their merry way. Obviously, the Austrians are still working on the craft of story telling.
Once we went down the mountain, we went to the Mirabelle Gardens, where my mom made us reenact some scenes from the Sound of Music and we had a contest to see who could name all the Von Trapp children (no one got more than 2). We also visited the Augustiner, where my dad regaled us with tales from his youth studying abroad, which inspired my mother to tell stories of her youth studying in Ellet. All of the stories were unwelcome by my brother and me.
After eating lots of pretzels and sausage (which my mother described as looking like baby belugas), gazing upon the snow capped mountains, and hearing more about the Sound of Music than I ever cared to, it was time to leave the German speaking region and head onto Italy. According to my dad, this also mean it was time for me to “remember all that Italian because that’s the only reason we brought you on this trip.” Ah, family memories.
We arrived in Munich and hit the ground running since we now only had one day in the city. Our main goal was to find the statue of Maximillion II. My great grandparents used to live near Munich and owned some sweet nightclubs. I guess these nightclubs were so cool, that the guy who designed the statue of Max that would go in the square gave my great (or great great?) grandparents the original model. This model now sits in my grandmother’s house and before we left my mom was looking at it and almost broke it. When I had visited Munich, I searched for the Max statue but did not find it. After asking the concierge at the hotel about it and consulting a map, we finally found Max. The statue is permanently in the middle of a square, but currently in the middle of some sort of carnival. It was difficult to get a picture with him with all the food tents and beer steins around us, but it was cool to see the giant version of what we’ve always been forced to admire at Oma’s house.
We were so exhausted from the flight that we needed to take a nap. However, my dad can’t nap or sit still ever, so he went down to the lobby and made a new German friend—Peter—who bought him a beer. I was actually surprised at how much German my dad remembered from his summer studying in Austria, but he did pretty well, or at least pretended to and we didn’t know the difference because none of us speak a word of German.
After a day in Munich, we took the train to Salzburg, Austria. The first thing we did there was take the Sound of Music tour because we are tourists and love busses. The tour was actually very nice and focused more on seeing sites around Austria than it did on just the movie. However, during the bus ride from place to place, they blared songs from the film as loudly as if they were a rap song with some heavy base. My eardrums were nearly shattered by an overly loud rendition of My Favorite Things. The best thing about the bus tour was Barbara. Barbara was cranky and apparently didn’t really want to go on the Sound of Music tour, though I don’t know how you could mistakenly get on this tour thinking it was something else considering the side of the bus had a giant picture of Julie Andrews singing her heart out. Barbara continuously complained to her spineless husband that she wanted off this bus immediately and wanted to take a different bus tour. At one point, the bus started slowing down due to traffic and Barbara started to get up, saying “Let’s get off now, come on,” but the husband advised her to wait until the bus actually stopped moving and got to a parking spot before she debussed. Finally, after much complaining to her husband and the tour guide, Barbara was let off in the middle of the street where she wandered off to something else to complain about.
During our next day in Salzburg, we took a lift up to the top of a mountain to see some great views and do some hiking. Since it was so high up, the air was pretty thin and the hiking was a little difficult. Therefore, when Alex asked my mother to hike a little more down the trail, she refused. He tried convincing her by saying, “But there’s a cross up ahead. We could just go to there.” She responded with, “I don’t care if God himself is up there, I’m not hiking up that hill.” And that was that.
The steep incline and thin air was not the only thing plaguing my mother on the top of the Austrian mountain. There were also large black birds flying around that, according to her, would peck your eyes out given the chance. When one bird landed close to us, I got my camera out to take a picture. Just as I was setting up the shot, something scared the bird and it flew away. I looked over to my mom who had several more rocks in her hands, prepared to throw at any more dangerous birds that should come our way.
Though the views were enough to keep us occupied on the mountain, there were also signs with old Austrian folklore on them, mostly having to do with gnomes. The tales made little sense and didn’t really have a moral at the ending. They were mostly just about hikers finding gnomes and then these gnomes might be nice, or they might be mean, or they might just go on their merry way. Obviously, the Austrians are still working on the craft of story telling.
Once we went down the mountain, we went to the Mirabelle Gardens, where my mom made us reenact some scenes from the Sound of Music and we had a contest to see who could name all the Von Trapp children (no one got more than 2). We also visited the Augustiner, where my dad regaled us with tales from his youth studying abroad, which inspired my mother to tell stories of her youth studying in Ellet. All of the stories were unwelcome by my brother and me.
After eating lots of pretzels and sausage (which my mother described as looking like baby belugas), gazing upon the snow capped mountains, and hearing more about the Sound of Music than I ever cared to, it was time to leave the German speaking region and head onto Italy. According to my dad, this also mean it was time for me to “remember all that Italian because that’s the only reason we brought you on this trip.” Ah, family memories.
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Annie, Get Your Gun...and Your Donkey
Over Memorial Day weekend, my dad's side of the family had a picnic. Family picnics are typical of this sort of holiday, however, this was not an average family event. My cousin's husband owns about 100 acres of land in Southern Ohio. What is on this land? Nothin'--no plumbing, no electricity, not shelter--just nature. For those of you who know me, you can guess that I would equate this sort of thing to one of Dante's circles of Hell. I'm not exactly into camping and my love of the outdoors ends at eating al fresco. Nevertheless, we made the hour and a half drive to Southern Ohio to celebrate the holiday with the family.
Now, I realize that some people refer to the residents of Stow as "Stowbillies" because of...well, I don't really know why because we're a pretty standard suburban town. Stow is near Kent, Akron, Hudson, Cuyahoga Falls--all towns that have regular houses with minimal lawn ornaments, country clubs, private gyms, public parks, and lovely town halls. I never thought that this quintessential suburban region was a mere hour drive from a scene out of Deliverance.
When we exited the highway and drove through the country roads, we spotted trailer homes, little run down bars, and more lawn ornaments that you could ever imagine. We drove past what little bit of civilization there was and ended up in the woods without cell phone reception, which is really just dangerous. Following the directions we'd been given, we kept driving until we came upon a dirt path, then turned onto that. Minivans are not really made for off-roading--the ads don't really cater to "the mom who loves adventure." Eventually we saw where everyone was parked. We couldn't park right away, though, since a donkey was blocking our path.
We got out of the car and I quickly realized that flip flops and a sundress were the worst things I could have worn since the grass went up to my knees and I was informed that I would need to check for tics once I left. I felt like I had fallen into some really dumb movie where the city gal is forced to live with the country-folk, kind of like Sweet Home Alabama, except there was no romance or happy ending where I came to embrace the country ways at the end.
The field was scattered with tents and trailers and the entire hippy community left over from the 60s was enjoying freshly roasted pig while shooting off bottle rockets. Most people had been camping there for a couple nights and were thus filthy. About 20 dogs and a crapload of children were running around, while the adults drank some homebrew and started building bonfires. It was like a gypsy encampment. I imagine this is what Cher's childhood was like.
A few of the kids rode ATVs around the place. One 5 year old girl (who I named Ruby Sue) rolled up in this giant ATV and introduced herself. She told me that she goes huntin' all the time but she "ain't caught nothin' bigger than a rabbit yet." She then informed me that she owns her own bow and arrow and gun. Then the donkey started breying and she said, "There goes my donkey, yellin' again." "Oh, it's your donkey?" I asked. "Yeah, of course," she answered, looking at me like its perfectly natural for a 5 year old to have a donkey and a gun and an ATV.
The food all looked really disgusting because it had been sitting out all day being picked over by campers. Fortunately, my mom had brought some chicken, so we snuck back into the van to eat our KFC in the air-conditioned vehicle. Maybe that wasn't in the spirit of the day, but I was done with nature and on the verge of tears thinking about the potential family of tics that had found a new home on my legs.
At night, all the dogs and children were outfitted with glow sticks to keep track of them and everyone else sat around the campfire listening to my cousins play the bongos and guitar. Then my brother, who is a hick at heart, started lighting off fireworks. The day wasn't really my idea of fun, but it was definitely interesting.
As we drove away, we could still hear the sounds of the guitar, children playing, ATVs humming, and a donkey braying. I imagine these are beautiful noises to those who find serenity in nature. To me, these are the sounds of slow torment and good blog material.
Now, I realize that some people refer to the residents of Stow as "Stowbillies" because of...well, I don't really know why because we're a pretty standard suburban town. Stow is near Kent, Akron, Hudson, Cuyahoga Falls--all towns that have regular houses with minimal lawn ornaments, country clubs, private gyms, public parks, and lovely town halls. I never thought that this quintessential suburban region was a mere hour drive from a scene out of Deliverance.
When we exited the highway and drove through the country roads, we spotted trailer homes, little run down bars, and more lawn ornaments that you could ever imagine. We drove past what little bit of civilization there was and ended up in the woods without cell phone reception, which is really just dangerous. Following the directions we'd been given, we kept driving until we came upon a dirt path, then turned onto that. Minivans are not really made for off-roading--the ads don't really cater to "the mom who loves adventure." Eventually we saw where everyone was parked. We couldn't park right away, though, since a donkey was blocking our path.
We got out of the car and I quickly realized that flip flops and a sundress were the worst things I could have worn since the grass went up to my knees and I was informed that I would need to check for tics once I left. I felt like I had fallen into some really dumb movie where the city gal is forced to live with the country-folk, kind of like Sweet Home Alabama, except there was no romance or happy ending where I came to embrace the country ways at the end.
The field was scattered with tents and trailers and the entire hippy community left over from the 60s was enjoying freshly roasted pig while shooting off bottle rockets. Most people had been camping there for a couple nights and were thus filthy. About 20 dogs and a crapload of children were running around, while the adults drank some homebrew and started building bonfires. It was like a gypsy encampment. I imagine this is what Cher's childhood was like.
A few of the kids rode ATVs around the place. One 5 year old girl (who I named Ruby Sue) rolled up in this giant ATV and introduced herself. She told me that she goes huntin' all the time but she "ain't caught nothin' bigger than a rabbit yet." She then informed me that she owns her own bow and arrow and gun. Then the donkey started breying and she said, "There goes my donkey, yellin' again." "Oh, it's your donkey?" I asked. "Yeah, of course," she answered, looking at me like its perfectly natural for a 5 year old to have a donkey and a gun and an ATV.
The food all looked really disgusting because it had been sitting out all day being picked over by campers. Fortunately, my mom had brought some chicken, so we snuck back into the van to eat our KFC in the air-conditioned vehicle. Maybe that wasn't in the spirit of the day, but I was done with nature and on the verge of tears thinking about the potential family of tics that had found a new home on my legs.
At night, all the dogs and children were outfitted with glow sticks to keep track of them and everyone else sat around the campfire listening to my cousins play the bongos and guitar. Then my brother, who is a hick at heart, started lighting off fireworks. The day wasn't really my idea of fun, but it was definitely interesting.
As we drove away, we could still hear the sounds of the guitar, children playing, ATVs humming, and a donkey braying. I imagine these are beautiful noises to those who find serenity in nature. To me, these are the sounds of slow torment and good blog material.
Monday, May 25, 2009
No Chance
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Day 5 of unemployment:
My mom woke me up at 9 am to tell me that she was taking our dog, Chance, to the vet to have him put down. I knew right away it was not going to be a good day. Chance hadn’t eaten in a couple days and this morning he couldn’t even stand up. He was the best dog ever. Here are some fun facts about Chance:
• We found him in the woods by my dad’s office. Someone abandon him there when he was a puppy, but their loss was our gain.
• Chance once jumped up on the kitchen table and ate an entire stick of butter. Other things he has eaten in entirety include: a box of donuts, a box of truffles, a loaf of bread, a bag of treats, wrapping paper
• Chance would always fall asleep on the top step of the basement and place his head on the next step up. Then he would start wheezing because he was choking himself by laying that way.
• One time, Chance was really thirsty so he drank a ton of water in one big gulp and immediately threw up.
• Chance was afraid of umbrellas.
• Chance played catch, but not fetch. Throw the ball, Chance catches the ball, game over.
• In the excitement of Easter egg hunting, we accidentally shut Chance in a closet and couldn’t figure out where he was.
• Chance never bit anyone and he rarely ever barked.
• Chance was really good at tug of war
• Chance was really adorable and the best dog ever.
After saying our goodbyes to Chance, we started to get ready for our family picture. For my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary, we promised them a professional family photo. What a great day to be all smiles. Incidentally, the family photo also forced me to put on real clothes. I guess a winning streak like that can only last so long.
After the picture, we went to a restaurant that smelled like dissection day in high school biology class. It was gross.
We got home and I heard my mom say “Hi Chance.” I followed her gaze and realized that the dog’s body and been wrapped up and placed right next to my futon which was in the garage and immediately got creeped out.
After Alex and Dad had dug a hole, we went out in the backyard for the funeral. We placed Chance in the grave and my mom tossed in some pig ears and tennis balls, which was meaningful, and also a good way to get rid of Chance’s toys. It was a sad moment, and then it turned gruesome when Alex started covering the grave with dirt. He pointed out a “cup” he had found when digging the hole. Turns out it was actually the margerine container we had used a year ago as a hamster casket. We all took our turn saying “Ew” or an equivalent expression of grossed out-ness, then threw in the decomposing hamster with Chance. Finally, the hole was covered and we placed a big rock on top of it. Rest in peace, Chancey.
The only good part about this day was that our neighbor baked confetti cake cupcakes for our loss. I ate three then took a nap.
After waking up, I walked over to the neighbor’s house with my parents for a drink on their deck. Heather was there with her new boyfriend, so I played third wheel for the night while they held hands and made eyes at each other. I felt this compulsion to randomly insert details of my recent dating exploits into conversations that had nothing to do with dating. Once Lauren and her boyfriend showed up, I settled into my prescribed role as the wry and self-deprecating single friend who could always make the couples laugh. It actually was a fun night, mostly because it wasn’t spent trying to steal movies off the internet and it took my mind off of losing my pet, but it made me miss certain people a little bit.
Since my parents had already left, I walked home by myself to find that I was locked out of my own house. Since my family is so used to not having me around, I guess they forgot that I was coming back. Fortunately, my mom heard my knocking and, like a stray cat begging to come in from the cold, I was let in.
It's weird not having a dog in the house.
Day 5 of unemployment:
My mom woke me up at 9 am to tell me that she was taking our dog, Chance, to the vet to have him put down. I knew right away it was not going to be a good day. Chance hadn’t eaten in a couple days and this morning he couldn’t even stand up. He was the best dog ever. Here are some fun facts about Chance:
• We found him in the woods by my dad’s office. Someone abandon him there when he was a puppy, but their loss was our gain.
• Chance once jumped up on the kitchen table and ate an entire stick of butter. Other things he has eaten in entirety include: a box of donuts, a box of truffles, a loaf of bread, a bag of treats, wrapping paper
• Chance would always fall asleep on the top step of the basement and place his head on the next step up. Then he would start wheezing because he was choking himself by laying that way.
• One time, Chance was really thirsty so he drank a ton of water in one big gulp and immediately threw up.
• Chance was afraid of umbrellas.
• Chance played catch, but not fetch. Throw the ball, Chance catches the ball, game over.
• In the excitement of Easter egg hunting, we accidentally shut Chance in a closet and couldn’t figure out where he was.
• Chance never bit anyone and he rarely ever barked.
• Chance was really good at tug of war
• Chance was really adorable and the best dog ever.
After saying our goodbyes to Chance, we started to get ready for our family picture. For my grandparents’ 50th wedding anniversary, we promised them a professional family photo. What a great day to be all smiles. Incidentally, the family photo also forced me to put on real clothes. I guess a winning streak like that can only last so long.
After the picture, we went to a restaurant that smelled like dissection day in high school biology class. It was gross.
We got home and I heard my mom say “Hi Chance.” I followed her gaze and realized that the dog’s body and been wrapped up and placed right next to my futon which was in the garage and immediately got creeped out.
After Alex and Dad had dug a hole, we went out in the backyard for the funeral. We placed Chance in the grave and my mom tossed in some pig ears and tennis balls, which was meaningful, and also a good way to get rid of Chance’s toys. It was a sad moment, and then it turned gruesome when Alex started covering the grave with dirt. He pointed out a “cup” he had found when digging the hole. Turns out it was actually the margerine container we had used a year ago as a hamster casket. We all took our turn saying “Ew” or an equivalent expression of grossed out-ness, then threw in the decomposing hamster with Chance. Finally, the hole was covered and we placed a big rock on top of it. Rest in peace, Chancey.
The only good part about this day was that our neighbor baked confetti cake cupcakes for our loss. I ate three then took a nap.
After waking up, I walked over to the neighbor’s house with my parents for a drink on their deck. Heather was there with her new boyfriend, so I played third wheel for the night while they held hands and made eyes at each other. I felt this compulsion to randomly insert details of my recent dating exploits into conversations that had nothing to do with dating. Once Lauren and her boyfriend showed up, I settled into my prescribed role as the wry and self-deprecating single friend who could always make the couples laugh. It actually was a fun night, mostly because it wasn’t spent trying to steal movies off the internet and it took my mind off of losing my pet, but it made me miss certain people a little bit.
Since my parents had already left, I walked home by myself to find that I was locked out of my own house. Since my family is so used to not having me around, I guess they forgot that I was coming back. Fortunately, my mom heard my knocking and, like a stray cat begging to come in from the cold, I was let in.
It's weird not having a dog in the house.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
The (Unemployed) Graduate
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Day 1 of unemployment:
After sleeping for 13 hours, I woke up at 1 pm to the hard cold realization that I had no plans that day, the next day, the next week, or for the rest of my life. I’m not starting a job this month. I’m not going back to school in August. Though it is very exciting to graduate, it’s not so exciting to have just graduated.
I job searched throughout senior year. I talked to the counselors at the career center, went to the career fair, attended lectures, and even stalked people on Linked In. I’m either too qualified for an internship, not qualified enough for a job, or just plain old not getting through to the HR person. I’m pretty talented. I have some great experience in television production. Therefore, I’m going to blame my employment misfortune on the economy, and I think that’s pretty fair.
Upon entering Notre Dame in the fall of ’05, I was promised a job in four years. Here I am, four years later, with a fancy sheepskin diploma and no job. I’m not bitter. I’m just waiting for that promise to come through. In the mean time, I’ll be living at home in Stow, Ohio, enjoying summer in the suburbs.
On my first day back home, I got out of bed at 1:00 pm, wandered downstairs, looked at all my suitcases and boxes that needed to be unpacked, and proceeded to ignore them for the rest of the day. It was just my first day back. I deserved to relax a little.
In the afternoon, I text-message broke up with Pat. He was never my boyfriend, but we did date for the last two weeks of college, and I wanted to make it clear that we weren’t dating anymore. Also, we had planned to text message break up on this day because planned jokes always work better than spontaneous ones.
I tried to watch a movie on megavideo.com but after watching about 15 minutes of it, the stupid site claimed I had viewed 70 minutes and had to wait another 40 minutes to continue watching. This discovery has really messed up my summer plans.
I wore athletic shorts and a wife beater the entire day.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Day 2 of unemployment:
I woke up at 12:30 today. I’m slowly progressing toward waking up at a reasonable hour.
I looked at all my crap that needs to be unpacked and ignored it for the rest of the day. I still needed some time to grieve my college career.
I decided to go for a walk around my neighborhood. After 2 minutes, my iPod died. I got chased by 5 dogs: an Australian shepherd, a Pomeranian, a basset hound, a beagle, a lab, and a tiny fluffy thing. I forgot that everyone in this neighborhood knows me because everyone in this neighborhood has lived here for over 20 years. I ran into a few people, some of whom congratulated me, most of whom started debates about Obama and abortion with me. I’m very tired of having to defend my graduation and I’m sad that any congratulations I receive has to come with a debate on morality. Though I guess debating political and ethical issues is more interesting than talking about gardening or something.
I tried watching something on megavideo again. It failed, so I tried to rent something from iTunes. By the time the 2 hour download was finished, I didn’t want to watch it anymore.
I spent the entire day in athletic shorts, a wife beater, and a Cubs hat.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Day 3 of unemployment:
I woke up around 11:30. Not bad.
I unpacked one bag of clothes because I was running out of wife beaters. I couldn’t find where I had packed my underwear, so it looks like I’ll be going commando.
I job searched online for a couple hours, scouring the internet for any potential jobs. I called a producer in South Bend, who one of my professors was sure had a job for me. He didn’t. He told me that finding a job is all about luck and that he had to work at Bloomingdales after college. That was encouraging.
Finding legitimate production companies is very difficult since there are a million production companies, but probably only a handful that aren’t run out of someone’s basement. There are a lot of “one guy an a camera” outfits out there. Another deceiving thing is that a lot of job openings that sound really awesome are in the porn industry. For example: Looking for a Final Cut Pro editor, limited experience necessary, to work in Chicago/NYC area. Pay is $45,000 a year. Sign me up! Hold on…click on the company profile...oh, I would be editing porn. Fantastic. Starting your career in porn doesn’t work out too well for actresses and I doubt it works out any better for videographers.
The grandparents came over for dinner. They seem to think I’m looking for jobs in Cleveland. I’m not.
I spent the entire day in athletic shorts and a wife beater. My real clothes are on protest until I get a job. Also, I’m thinking about not washing my hair to get some sweet dreads.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Day 4 of unemployment:
I woke up at 10:30. Getting much better.
After getting up, I got a bowl of cereal and watched Who Framed Roger Rabbit. That movie is not nearly as scary as I remember it being.
I felt extra motivated and unpacked the rest of the clothes. This won’t stop me from continuing to wear wife beaters and athletic shorts.
I sent an email to a local production company, asking for job advice and if they had any summer openings, even offering to work for free. They said no.
I pet my dog for a couple hours because he’s really sick. Then I fed him some pepperoni.
I went on a walk and only got chased by two dogs. No neighbors harassed me about abortion.
I watched American Psycho with my mom. She fell asleep, so then I was just watching it by myself.
I’m considering putting on real pants.
Day 1 of unemployment:
After sleeping for 13 hours, I woke up at 1 pm to the hard cold realization that I had no plans that day, the next day, the next week, or for the rest of my life. I’m not starting a job this month. I’m not going back to school in August. Though it is very exciting to graduate, it’s not so exciting to have just graduated.
I job searched throughout senior year. I talked to the counselors at the career center, went to the career fair, attended lectures, and even stalked people on Linked In. I’m either too qualified for an internship, not qualified enough for a job, or just plain old not getting through to the HR person. I’m pretty talented. I have some great experience in television production. Therefore, I’m going to blame my employment misfortune on the economy, and I think that’s pretty fair.
Upon entering Notre Dame in the fall of ’05, I was promised a job in four years. Here I am, four years later, with a fancy sheepskin diploma and no job. I’m not bitter. I’m just waiting for that promise to come through. In the mean time, I’ll be living at home in Stow, Ohio, enjoying summer in the suburbs.
On my first day back home, I got out of bed at 1:00 pm, wandered downstairs, looked at all my suitcases and boxes that needed to be unpacked, and proceeded to ignore them for the rest of the day. It was just my first day back. I deserved to relax a little.
In the afternoon, I text-message broke up with Pat. He was never my boyfriend, but we did date for the last two weeks of college, and I wanted to make it clear that we weren’t dating anymore. Also, we had planned to text message break up on this day because planned jokes always work better than spontaneous ones.
I tried to watch a movie on megavideo.com but after watching about 15 minutes of it, the stupid site claimed I had viewed 70 minutes and had to wait another 40 minutes to continue watching. This discovery has really messed up my summer plans.
I wore athletic shorts and a wife beater the entire day.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Day 2 of unemployment:
I woke up at 12:30 today. I’m slowly progressing toward waking up at a reasonable hour.
I looked at all my crap that needs to be unpacked and ignored it for the rest of the day. I still needed some time to grieve my college career.
I decided to go for a walk around my neighborhood. After 2 minutes, my iPod died. I got chased by 5 dogs: an Australian shepherd, a Pomeranian, a basset hound, a beagle, a lab, and a tiny fluffy thing. I forgot that everyone in this neighborhood knows me because everyone in this neighborhood has lived here for over 20 years. I ran into a few people, some of whom congratulated me, most of whom started debates about Obama and abortion with me. I’m very tired of having to defend my graduation and I’m sad that any congratulations I receive has to come with a debate on morality. Though I guess debating political and ethical issues is more interesting than talking about gardening or something.
I tried watching something on megavideo again. It failed, so I tried to rent something from iTunes. By the time the 2 hour download was finished, I didn’t want to watch it anymore.
I spent the entire day in athletic shorts, a wife beater, and a Cubs hat.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Day 3 of unemployment:
I woke up around 11:30. Not bad.
I unpacked one bag of clothes because I was running out of wife beaters. I couldn’t find where I had packed my underwear, so it looks like I’ll be going commando.
I job searched online for a couple hours, scouring the internet for any potential jobs. I called a producer in South Bend, who one of my professors was sure had a job for me. He didn’t. He told me that finding a job is all about luck and that he had to work at Bloomingdales after college. That was encouraging.
Finding legitimate production companies is very difficult since there are a million production companies, but probably only a handful that aren’t run out of someone’s basement. There are a lot of “one guy an a camera” outfits out there. Another deceiving thing is that a lot of job openings that sound really awesome are in the porn industry. For example: Looking for a Final Cut Pro editor, limited experience necessary, to work in Chicago/NYC area. Pay is $45,000 a year. Sign me up! Hold on…click on the company profile...oh, I would be editing porn. Fantastic. Starting your career in porn doesn’t work out too well for actresses and I doubt it works out any better for videographers.
The grandparents came over for dinner. They seem to think I’m looking for jobs in Cleveland. I’m not.
I spent the entire day in athletic shorts and a wife beater. My real clothes are on protest until I get a job. Also, I’m thinking about not washing my hair to get some sweet dreads.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Day 4 of unemployment:
I woke up at 10:30. Getting much better.
After getting up, I got a bowl of cereal and watched Who Framed Roger Rabbit. That movie is not nearly as scary as I remember it being.
I felt extra motivated and unpacked the rest of the clothes. This won’t stop me from continuing to wear wife beaters and athletic shorts.
I sent an email to a local production company, asking for job advice and if they had any summer openings, even offering to work for free. They said no.
I pet my dog for a couple hours because he’s really sick. Then I fed him some pepperoni.
I went on a walk and only got chased by two dogs. No neighbors harassed me about abortion.
I watched American Psycho with my mom. She fell asleep, so then I was just watching it by myself.
I’m considering putting on real pants.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Twilight Book Report
Most of you have probably heard of the Twilight book series. Since I am a huge fan of pop culture and always want to be in-the-know on the latest trend, I decided to read the books. Stephanie Meyers has taken over Dan Brown's number one spot on my worst writer's list. As a fan of Anne Rice novels and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I was almost offended by the nonchalant liberty Meyers took with vampire myth. Despite this, I read all four books, and found myself secretly enjoying them, like some guilty pleasure along the lines of spoonfuls of peanut butter straight from the jar or OC marathons. So, to save the rest of you from wasting your time with these books, I will provide you with my summary of each one.
Book 1:
Bella is a very clumsy girl who hates weather. Edward is smokin' hot and mysterious. It turns out he's a vampire and Bella is into that. They start dating but Edward is really tempted to kill her whenever they are together because she smells delicious. Bella is cool with that. They can't kiss all that much because Edward might break her face with his super lips. Also, Edward glitters in the sun, which Bella thinks is just precious and totally vampire-like. Some other vampire also thinks Bella smells really tasty and tries to eat her but Edward and his buddies rip him apart and burn the pieces. Then Bella and Edward go to prom and Edward still wants to eat her. The end.
Book 2:
Edward decides he is over this whole scene and peaces out. Bella is really emo and doesn't talk to anyone and just sulks. She starts hanging out with this kid Jacob who is totally into her. Jacob is werewolf, but Bella is cool with it. Bella won't date Jacob because she's an idiot. Then she jumps of a cliff for funsies and almost drowns. Then she hears that Edward is going to kill himself in Italy, so she goes to Italy to try and stop this from going down. She does absolutely no site-seeing and has zero meals in the country where food is perfect. Instead, she just hangs out with vampires and convinces Edward she's not dead. Then they leave. Edward still kind of wants to eat Bella.
Book 3:
So remember that guy that they killed in the first book? He had a girlfriend and she's still pretty angry about her man being murdered, so she wants to kill Bella, but not because she smells tasty. Jacob the werewolf wants to date Bella but Bella is more of a vampire kind of girl. The crazy chick comes with an army of vampires to kill Bella, but Bella hides out in a tent while everyone else fights. The bad guys die. Edward has learned to control his cravings for Bella's blood.
Book 4:
Bella graduates from high school and promptly marries Edward so that they can have sex before she becomes a vampire. Unfortunately, MTV was not there to film an episode of "Underaged and Engaged." They go to an island and have sex for, like, 17 days, but each time, Bella wakes up with a bunch of bruises and the bed is all ripped to shreds. Bella thinks, "Worth it." This is why Rihanna got back together with Chris Brown. Then Bella finds out that she's pregnant, and at an accelerated rate. Edward is all like "Woman, we are getting this taken care of right now" and Bella is like "Noooooo, it's my baaaaabbbyyy" and Edward is like "But you will die, idiot" and she is like "worth it." So Bella is slowly dying because this baby demon keep breaking her ribs and eventually it breaks her spine and she starts spewing blood and Edward makes her a vampire to save her. Once she is a vampire, she is really smokin' hot and she and Edward have lots more sex. Then they hang out with their baby. Then some other vampires come to see what's up. The entire book leads up to a big fight. They are all ready for the fight and have all been practicing their cute little vampire super powers for weeks. Then they talk it out and part ways. Then Bella and Edward have sex again. The End.
There, now you don't have to read the books. You can just see the movies, which are sure to be entertaining in their ridiculousness.
If the Twilight series can teach us anything, it's that you can be absolutely talentless and do no research on your topic, and still become a millionaire.
Book 1:
Bella is a very clumsy girl who hates weather. Edward is smokin' hot and mysterious. It turns out he's a vampire and Bella is into that. They start dating but Edward is really tempted to kill her whenever they are together because she smells delicious. Bella is cool with that. They can't kiss all that much because Edward might break her face with his super lips. Also, Edward glitters in the sun, which Bella thinks is just precious and totally vampire-like. Some other vampire also thinks Bella smells really tasty and tries to eat her but Edward and his buddies rip him apart and burn the pieces. Then Bella and Edward go to prom and Edward still wants to eat her. The end.
Book 2:
Edward decides he is over this whole scene and peaces out. Bella is really emo and doesn't talk to anyone and just sulks. She starts hanging out with this kid Jacob who is totally into her. Jacob is werewolf, but Bella is cool with it. Bella won't date Jacob because she's an idiot. Then she jumps of a cliff for funsies and almost drowns. Then she hears that Edward is going to kill himself in Italy, so she goes to Italy to try and stop this from going down. She does absolutely no site-seeing and has zero meals in the country where food is perfect. Instead, she just hangs out with vampires and convinces Edward she's not dead. Then they leave. Edward still kind of wants to eat Bella.
Book 3:
So remember that guy that they killed in the first book? He had a girlfriend and she's still pretty angry about her man being murdered, so she wants to kill Bella, but not because she smells tasty. Jacob the werewolf wants to date Bella but Bella is more of a vampire kind of girl. The crazy chick comes with an army of vampires to kill Bella, but Bella hides out in a tent while everyone else fights. The bad guys die. Edward has learned to control his cravings for Bella's blood.
Book 4:
Bella graduates from high school and promptly marries Edward so that they can have sex before she becomes a vampire. Unfortunately, MTV was not there to film an episode of "Underaged and Engaged." They go to an island and have sex for, like, 17 days, but each time, Bella wakes up with a bunch of bruises and the bed is all ripped to shreds. Bella thinks, "Worth it." This is why Rihanna got back together with Chris Brown. Then Bella finds out that she's pregnant, and at an accelerated rate. Edward is all like "Woman, we are getting this taken care of right now" and Bella is like "Noooooo, it's my baaaaabbbyyy" and Edward is like "But you will die, idiot" and she is like "worth it." So Bella is slowly dying because this baby demon keep breaking her ribs and eventually it breaks her spine and she starts spewing blood and Edward makes her a vampire to save her. Once she is a vampire, she is really smokin' hot and she and Edward have lots more sex. Then they hang out with their baby. Then some other vampires come to see what's up. The entire book leads up to a big fight. They are all ready for the fight and have all been practicing their cute little vampire super powers for weeks. Then they talk it out and part ways. Then Bella and Edward have sex again. The End.
There, now you don't have to read the books. You can just see the movies, which are sure to be entertaining in their ridiculousness.
If the Twilight series can teach us anything, it's that you can be absolutely talentless and do no research on your topic, and still become a millionaire.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
All My Single Ladies
Allow me to tell you a little bit about my friends. They are all beautiful, charming, intelligent, fun-loving.....and single. That last adjective doesn't seem to belong in the category, but unfortunately, these wonderful and very available ladies can't seem to find a boyfriend. I could go on about men fearing independent and intelligent women, but I think Oprah has the market cornered on that one. And I could talk about how my friends and I need to open up our hearts to more possibilities, but I don't completely buy into that. Instead, I would like to discuss what I feel is our main issue: We are completely and unforgivably awkward.
I will admit that "awkward" is a term that is thrown around way too much these days, along with "random" and "literally", but my social circle's case, it's pretty valid. Having grown up with mostly female friends and having had 2 or fewer serious relationships throughout our lives, my group really doesn't stand a chance. How are we supposed to know how to act around boys? We've always been taught to be independent and to never dumb ourselves down for a man. But no one taught us how to flip our hair while batting our eyelashes or laugh at a boy's sad attempt at a joke. Of course, we know the basics of femininity--hair, fashion, makeup, poise--but we don't take it to the extreme of slutty-ness, catty-ness, or lower-back tattoos. The resulting product of such a combination of social graces is a pretty woman who has her life together, but can't get men to see her as worth pursuing. Maybe it's because we look like we don't need men. Or maybe it's because we stay in the friend zone. Or maybe it's because we say awkward stuff like the following:
While at a bar on Friday night, a man approached Caitlin and said, "Do you dance?" Her response "Not competitively." When he grabbed another chick and moved to the dance floor, it dawned on Caitlin what he really meant.
At a bar one weekend, I was trying to get the bartender's attention so I could get a pitcher for my friends. I was waiting patiently, lost in thoughts, when a man next to me said, "Why are you so upset?" I automatically responded with, "Oh, no, I'm not angry. That's just my face." He quietly turned to face the girl on his other side.
In trying to give Emma flirting tips, Caitlin and I (the obvious experts on flirting) were debating between the methods of tactile flirting. Arm touch or chest touch? After assuring Emma that either would work, we went to a bar to demonstrate. Caitlin did her best to lightly touch a man's chest as she was talking to him and I made sure to occasionally touch the arm of the man I was talking to. Neither of us got phone numbers. Emma never used our methods and she has a boyfriend.
At a party, I made the mistake of wearing a shirt from the time when monogram clothing was popular. My shirt had a big rhinestone "E" in the corner, giving me that coveted Laverne-look. A boy came up to me and attempted to make a joke about the "E", saying "Does that stand for...easy? or...excellent...or...ummm.." I stopped him from going any further and jokingly said, "If you don't have anything clever to say, then just move on and talk about something else." Hurt, bad joke guy walked away. My friend Kristina was appalled and said, "Why were you so mean to him!" "What, it was a bad joke." I said. "Yeah, but he was a BOY"she said, flipping her hair and giving bedroom eyes to a boy across the room. Kristina is also single.
I guess what I'm getting at here is that we make plenty of mistakes, but who doesn't? Is there really any surefire way to get a guy's attention or to flirt? Flipping my eye and giggling for me is really just the equivalent of wearing a push-up bra--it's just a deception to make you more attracted to me. Even if I tried to cover it up, any guy would soon discover that I am sarcastic and independent and not at all the delicate flower he had hoped for. So my conclusion is that my friends are great women and deserve great men. So until the men step it up a notch, we're all going to be single and awkwardly lurking the bars.
I will admit that "awkward" is a term that is thrown around way too much these days, along with "random" and "literally", but my social circle's case, it's pretty valid. Having grown up with mostly female friends and having had 2 or fewer serious relationships throughout our lives, my group really doesn't stand a chance. How are we supposed to know how to act around boys? We've always been taught to be independent and to never dumb ourselves down for a man. But no one taught us how to flip our hair while batting our eyelashes or laugh at a boy's sad attempt at a joke. Of course, we know the basics of femininity--hair, fashion, makeup, poise--but we don't take it to the extreme of slutty-ness, catty-ness, or lower-back tattoos. The resulting product of such a combination of social graces is a pretty woman who has her life together, but can't get men to see her as worth pursuing. Maybe it's because we look like we don't need men. Or maybe it's because we stay in the friend zone. Or maybe it's because we say awkward stuff like the following:
While at a bar on Friday night, a man approached Caitlin and said, "Do you dance?" Her response "Not competitively." When he grabbed another chick and moved to the dance floor, it dawned on Caitlin what he really meant.
At a bar one weekend, I was trying to get the bartender's attention so I could get a pitcher for my friends. I was waiting patiently, lost in thoughts, when a man next to me said, "Why are you so upset?" I automatically responded with, "Oh, no, I'm not angry. That's just my face." He quietly turned to face the girl on his other side.
In trying to give Emma flirting tips, Caitlin and I (the obvious experts on flirting) were debating between the methods of tactile flirting. Arm touch or chest touch? After assuring Emma that either would work, we went to a bar to demonstrate. Caitlin did her best to lightly touch a man's chest as she was talking to him and I made sure to occasionally touch the arm of the man I was talking to. Neither of us got phone numbers. Emma never used our methods and she has a boyfriend.
At a party, I made the mistake of wearing a shirt from the time when monogram clothing was popular. My shirt had a big rhinestone "E" in the corner, giving me that coveted Laverne-look. A boy came up to me and attempted to make a joke about the "E", saying "Does that stand for...easy? or...excellent...or...ummm.." I stopped him from going any further and jokingly said, "If you don't have anything clever to say, then just move on and talk about something else." Hurt, bad joke guy walked away. My friend Kristina was appalled and said, "Why were you so mean to him!" "What, it was a bad joke." I said. "Yeah, but he was a BOY"she said, flipping her hair and giving bedroom eyes to a boy across the room. Kristina is also single.
I guess what I'm getting at here is that we make plenty of mistakes, but who doesn't? Is there really any surefire way to get a guy's attention or to flirt? Flipping my eye and giggling for me is really just the equivalent of wearing a push-up bra--it's just a deception to make you more attracted to me. Even if I tried to cover it up, any guy would soon discover that I am sarcastic and independent and not at all the delicate flower he had hoped for. So my conclusion is that my friends are great women and deserve great men. So until the men step it up a notch, we're all going to be single and awkwardly lurking the bars.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Crazy Cat Lady
I have had 2 memorable experiences with stray cats. The first was when Brian Setzer (from the 80s rockabilly band and, more famously, from The Brian Setzer Orchestra) sat behind me during a Cleveland performance of The Phantom of the Opera. The second is a current and continuing experience of my mother's love of the neighborhood homeless felines.
Stray cats have been prowling my neighborhood for as far back as I can remember. However, it wasn't until a little over a year ago that my mom started taking a particular liking to them. It began innocently enough--she would buy cheap cat food and set it outside for the hungry cats. As the news spread of this new food source that didn't require chasing or pouncing, cats from all around town came to feast underneath our deck. At first, my mom vowed to stop feeding them so she wouldn't attract anymore cats. But then winter came--the temperature dropped and my mom couldn't bear to leave the poor little kitties starving in the snow. So, she continued to feed them, and in the spring, their numbers multiplied.
The emotional attachment came when we started naming the cats. At first, the names were creative and made for entertainment purposes more than out of love. For instance, Squirrel was named so because I saw her sitting underneath the bird-feeder and, because of her grey fluffy coat, I mistook her for a squirrel. Gerard got his name because half his face was white, making him look like the Phantom of the Opera, who was played by Gerard Butler in the film adaptation. Other names included Inky (because of her black coat), Stinky (because of her mean demeanor), and Coco (because Chanel is a beloved designer, even in the cat world). Then, the names started to sound like potential Flavor of Love candidates, with Funky, Boots, and Little Stinker being the next generation. Later, the cat names became a lot less creative and a lot more descriptive. Now, there's B.O.C. (Big Orange Cat), Big Grey, Calico, and Cow Kitty (it apparently looks just like a cow).
During my summer in Vail, my mom called me with updates about the cats. I began to worry when she said that her goal for the summer was to pet one of the cats. My mind raced with the innumerous diseases these wild animals could carry and I pictured my mother's obituary reading: "Crazy cat lady dies of feline leukemia." However, my dad assured me that he had things under control.
He totally did NOT.
At the end of the summer, I got a call from my mother. She had a tone of sadness in her voice that made me realize right away that something was wrong. She told me that Bing* had died. My dad the enabler had helped her catch her favorite kitten with a net. They took the tiny creature to the vet, only to find out that it was so riddled with diseases that nothing could be done and it had to be put down. My mother felt terrible, thinking that it was her fault that Squirrel was missing one of her kittens. I really did feel bad for her (my mom, not Squirrel the cat). As weird as it is, my mom loves feeding those cats every morning and night, building them little houses out of laundry baskets and hay, and chasing other animals away from the cats' food. We all have our weird little obsessions. My mom's just happens to be stereotypical of old spinsters, which I guess is a stereotype that she is working on breaking.
Despite the upset with Bing, my mom still takes care of her cats. The neighbors complain that their children might catch diseases or that their dog is getting fat from snatching the cat food, but to them she simply says, "Well then keep your damn kids/dog out of my yard!"
After achieving her goal of petting a cat (and not dying), my mom has moved onto her new goal of getting the cats to come inside. Each day, Boots becomes braver and braver and gets further in our basement before scurrying out. My dad is concerned that it's only a matter of time before the cat sneaks in during the night to eat our brains. But I know that close to the surface, my dad is just as crazy about those cats as my mom is, because they make my mom happy.
*The name "Bing" came during my parents' "Friends" phase. During this, they'd watch 1 or 2 episodes of Friends a day. My dad got a little too involved in it and would occasionally call me to tell me the latest antics Chandler had gotten himself into, which, thanks to reruns on TBS, I was already familiar with. My parents have now switched to the sitcom "How I Met Your Mother," and a similar thing is happening. When I mentioned that I had to dress business casual for the upcoming career fair, my parents said, in unison, "Suit up!" and then told me that I am "such a Robin."
Stray cats have been prowling my neighborhood for as far back as I can remember. However, it wasn't until a little over a year ago that my mom started taking a particular liking to them. It began innocently enough--she would buy cheap cat food and set it outside for the hungry cats. As the news spread of this new food source that didn't require chasing or pouncing, cats from all around town came to feast underneath our deck. At first, my mom vowed to stop feeding them so she wouldn't attract anymore cats. But then winter came--the temperature dropped and my mom couldn't bear to leave the poor little kitties starving in the snow. So, she continued to feed them, and in the spring, their numbers multiplied.
The emotional attachment came when we started naming the cats. At first, the names were creative and made for entertainment purposes more than out of love. For instance, Squirrel was named so because I saw her sitting underneath the bird-feeder and, because of her grey fluffy coat, I mistook her for a squirrel. Gerard got his name because half his face was white, making him look like the Phantom of the Opera, who was played by Gerard Butler in the film adaptation. Other names included Inky (because of her black coat), Stinky (because of her mean demeanor), and Coco (because Chanel is a beloved designer, even in the cat world). Then, the names started to sound like potential Flavor of Love candidates, with Funky, Boots, and Little Stinker being the next generation. Later, the cat names became a lot less creative and a lot more descriptive. Now, there's B.O.C. (Big Orange Cat), Big Grey, Calico, and Cow Kitty (it apparently looks just like a cow).
During my summer in Vail, my mom called me with updates about the cats. I began to worry when she said that her goal for the summer was to pet one of the cats. My mind raced with the innumerous diseases these wild animals could carry and I pictured my mother's obituary reading: "Crazy cat lady dies of feline leukemia." However, my dad assured me that he had things under control.
He totally did NOT.
At the end of the summer, I got a call from my mother. She had a tone of sadness in her voice that made me realize right away that something was wrong. She told me that Bing* had died. My dad the enabler had helped her catch her favorite kitten with a net. They took the tiny creature to the vet, only to find out that it was so riddled with diseases that nothing could be done and it had to be put down. My mother felt terrible, thinking that it was her fault that Squirrel was missing one of her kittens. I really did feel bad for her (my mom, not Squirrel the cat). As weird as it is, my mom loves feeding those cats every morning and night, building them little houses out of laundry baskets and hay, and chasing other animals away from the cats' food. We all have our weird little obsessions. My mom's just happens to be stereotypical of old spinsters, which I guess is a stereotype that she is working on breaking.
Despite the upset with Bing, my mom still takes care of her cats. The neighbors complain that their children might catch diseases or that their dog is getting fat from snatching the cat food, but to them she simply says, "Well then keep your damn kids/dog out of my yard!"
After achieving her goal of petting a cat (and not dying), my mom has moved onto her new goal of getting the cats to come inside. Each day, Boots becomes braver and braver and gets further in our basement before scurrying out. My dad is concerned that it's only a matter of time before the cat sneaks in during the night to eat our brains. But I know that close to the surface, my dad is just as crazy about those cats as my mom is, because they make my mom happy.
*The name "Bing" came during my parents' "Friends" phase. During this, they'd watch 1 or 2 episodes of Friends a day. My dad got a little too involved in it and would occasionally call me to tell me the latest antics Chandler had gotten himself into, which, thanks to reruns on TBS, I was already familiar with. My parents have now switched to the sitcom "How I Met Your Mother," and a similar thing is happening. When I mentioned that I had to dress business casual for the upcoming career fair, my parents said, in unison, "Suit up!" and then told me that I am "such a Robin."
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Face Page
Technology is not really the forte of my parents or most of their generation. Over Christmas break, my mom was thoroughly impressed by the concept of drag and drop, and my Aunt Susie asked me if I had a "Face Page." I think my favorite moment came when my dad asked my brother why he was looking at pictures of "floozies" on his computer. Turns out he was just looking at pictures of his friends on facebook, but my dad said, "Those pictures are too slutty to put on the internet!" My brother clarified for the rest of us that the girls were wearing conservative sweatshirts but my dad retorted with, "But they had these come hither stares!" The internet is too saucy for my dad.
My little brother, Alex, is a whiz with the internet and computers, mostly because he's 17. He recently got a facebook and we are now "friends," which was all fine and good until his every move on the site came up on my newsfeed. I don't want to know who my brother is tagging pictures of or what he is writing on people's walls. In one disturbing episode, I went on facebook only to be hit in the face with "Alex has commented on *Enter teenage girl's name here*'s photo." The comment itself was even displayed on the news feed and was a saucy "Wow ur so beutiful" (misspelling intentional). I immediately texted Alex, informing that he should change his privacy settings so he wouldn't have to subject me to his teenage love fest. Since then, I have been spared witnessing Alex's attempts at scoring honeys.
My little brother, Alex, is a whiz with the internet and computers, mostly because he's 17. He recently got a facebook and we are now "friends," which was all fine and good until his every move on the site came up on my newsfeed. I don't want to know who my brother is tagging pictures of or what he is writing on people's walls. In one disturbing episode, I went on facebook only to be hit in the face with "Alex has commented on *Enter teenage girl's name here*'s photo." The comment itself was even displayed on the news feed and was a saucy "Wow ur so beutiful" (misspelling intentional). I immediately texted Alex, informing that he should change his privacy settings so he wouldn't have to subject me to his teenage love fest. Since then, I have been spared witnessing Alex's attempts at scoring honeys.
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