Reasons to celebrate

Before Friday, I have to write a book review and a 5-page paper on Teotihuacan influence on the Classic Maya, give a Spanish presentation on Borges, and prepare for a Spanish as a Second Language exam. Even so, there are still reasons to celebrate being alive on this wacky planet, such that it is.

a) The video for Lady Gaga's new single. While not as good as that of "Paparazzi," it may or may not feature Lady Gaga being sold as a sex slave to Russians in a pristine white environment that looks like a mental hospital/the set of THX-1138. And that's enough for me, even if she is ripping off Madonna.

b) The beginning of "America's Next Great Pundit," the Washington Post's new plan to ruin their integrity after the salon scheme. It's like reality TV for people like me! I am disappointed by the lack of white supremacists on the cast, though. And I would be lying if I said I didn't wish I had applied, although I think being an Ivy Leaguer would not go nearly as far in a pundritry competition as it appears to do in America's Next Top Model.

c) Imogen Heap's cover of "Thriller". Possibly even more epic than the video of Filipino prisoners doing the dance to the aforementioned song.

I can't decide which is most epic. Back to talud-tablero architecture.

And the wall came tumbling down

Today is the twentieth anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall. It's also, as George Packer points out, the anniversary of the date of Kaiser Wilhelm's abdication, the Beer Hall Putsch, and Kristallnacht. "The German calendar is appropriately inconvenient: nothing good is conserved without the active remembrance of something bad," he writes.

How true. As a history major born on the 43rd anniversary of the use of the atomic bomb, a subject which I've thought about and written about to death, I've spent my entire life trying to learn that history doesn't discriminate. Certainly, people instigate events, and make decisions on specific dates for reasons, but ultimately, we have no control over what happens on the anniversary of any given day.

We like to tie historical events to memorable causes. But more often than not, the path of history is much more inglorious than we would like to admit, as Packer writes:

The wall came down not because Ronald Reagan stood up and demanded it but because on the evening of November 9th, at a televised press conference in East Berlin, a Party hack named Günter Schabowski flubbed a question about the regime’s new, liberalized travel regulations. Asked when they took effect, Schabowski shrugged, scratched his head, checked some papers, and said, “Immediately,” sending thousands of East Berliners to the wall in a human tide that the German Democratic Republic could not control. Soldiers and Stasi agents didn’t shoot into the crowd, but things could easily have gone otherwise.

What many like to see as an inevitable conclusion and what nearly everyone sees as an inspiring symbol of the end of an era only occured because of a strange set of coincidences and mistakes. And as epic and beautiful as that image is, we need to remember that there are many more forces at work than just fate and justice in the creation of history

And so then, how to treat the death of Vitaly Ginzburg, a fascinating man instrumental in the creation of the Soviet H-bomb? With him dies one more memory of a terrifying period in human history, one more account of Stalin's brutality.

That is perhaps the greatest loss. How will we remember the past when those who have experienced it are gone? At Brown University, my fair undergraduate institution, we celebrated the fall of the Berlin Wall with German spoken word, free sausages, and a reenactment of the day, complete with tearing down a mock wall on the Main Green. At the same time, on another quad, football players in pink shirts bench pressed weights to raise money for breast cancer as students cheered them on.

Coincidence? Certainly. What does it mean? You got me. At any rate, I'm glad it happened, just as people around the world, including myself, are happy for the coincidences of twenty years ago, as we all should be.

64 Too Many

Back when I considered myself really political (that is, about six years ago), I added myself to a bunch of political email listservs. Though I've gradually dropped off of most of the mailing lists in hopes of conserving inbox space and because of my increasing disenchantment with the political process (I never quite got over Kerry's loss in 2004. No lie.), I still receive emails from MoveOn.org and the Barack Obama campaign (the latter the outcome of my brief phone banking stint in October 2008.)

In general, my attitude towards the daily dispensations of these political listservs wavers between vague tolerance and serious anger, the latter emotion usually occurring when I am expecting some sort of employment or school-related email and get a request to donate 25 dollars to help run an ad in some Midwestern state. However, my tolerance for the emails has increased as of late, thanks to the ever-growing hullabaloo surrounding the public option.

I lack the time, energy, and faith in my ability to argue for the public option strongly in this post, so I will brief on my reasons supporting this policy. As the child of a physician who frequently hears stories of people putting off yearly physicals until they have a terminal condition, I support a health plan that emphasizes preventive care. After seeing my elementary school students come in day after day with untreated burns, bumps and skin conditions and struggle to focus because their parents couldn't afford eyeglasses, I support affordable, comprehensive health care. And after having to pay out of pocket in a foreign country, I realize just how expensive and scary getting sick can be for the millions of Americans without health insurance.

So when I received a Obama campaign email asking me to call my representative to support a new health care bill in the House with a public option, I thought twice before hitting "Delete" and instead picked up the phone to call Representative Heath Shuler, the former football player-turned-Democratic rep for my district.

I didn't get to talk to Shuler, which I didn't really expect to do anyway, but I did leave a message and did feel pretty good about myself. While one dinky constituent leaving a message in favor of the bill probably wouldn't push my representative to change his opinion, a torrent of support, of which my message would be a small part, might do the trick.

Sadly, I don't know whether that torrent of support materialized, and if it did, why it didn't work. Because while the House's most recent health care bill, which contains a public option, was passed Saturday night, Rep. Shuler voted against it.

Let me say that I am very grateful for those who worked to make the bill a reality, and for Rep. Cao of Louisiana, the one Republican who voted for the bill. But I remain extremely frustrated with my Representative for not only not voting for this health care bill, but also voting for the Stupak amendment, a bill which prohibits coverage of abortions within a government health care plan. Shuler was one of 64 Democrats to vote for the amendment, and one of 26 to support Stupak's addition while voting against the health care bill itself.

Many are downplaying the amendment's significance, stating that abortions are widely funded in the private market already, and that it maintains the status quo of the Hyde amendment, which prevents federal funding for abortions except in instances of endangerment of the mother. But these arguments ignore the fact that the bill appears to actually expand existing legislation. According to some opponents, it will force women to get a separate insurance rider in order to cover abortion. And of course, poor women will still have to pay out of pocket should they need the procedure.

Whether those who voted for the amendment voted because of their own personal beliefs or to save the public option bill, which Stupak and others were threatening to filibuster, is uncertain. Regardless, however, the passage of the amendment is a disappointment to me and to anyone who believes that everyone deserves to have the access to the same health services, regardless of economic status.

And so, tomorrow, I will be making another call to the office of Representative Heath Shuler. I can't say that it will have the desired effect, but I feel that I can't let my frustration with this turn of events go unheard. Check this list and see if your representative is on it. If you oppose the Stupak amendment, please give him or her a call.

Of acronyms and exactitude

HOLY CARP. I just learned about this thing calledNaBloPoMo, also known as National Blog Posting Month. It's like NaNoWriMo for people who are more self-involved and less creative! Yay!

Seriously, though, I wish I had found out about this sometime around, say, November 1, so that I could actually do it over a month. Apparently this thing happens every month, but NO, I cannot wait until December, because I am (a) impatient and (b) not quite overloaded enough with four classes, rehearsals for three musical groups, job and fellowship applications, opinions columns, and making poor, poor academic decisions (more on this later). Perhaps I will start now and go until December 7 (a day that will live in infamy!), or perhaps I will count all those opinions columns I need to do backdated posts for as November 1-6. Or perhaps I will fail.

Either way, I will probably need the power of the Holy Carp in this picture to help me. Stay tuned.

Adulthood Ain't So Bad

Today, I am a woman. Why? Because I wanted fried tofu, and by golly, I made myself fried tofu. And it was so. good.

You too can become a woman, or man, by indulging your desire for fried tofu with the directions I've provided here at Spice and Sauce, my dear friend Audrey's blog. What's that you say? You don't have a desire for fried tofu? You soon will.

Also, the Japanese desire to anthropomorphize things can be super creepy, but I have to admit that this is the cutest soybean curd I've ever seen in my life.

The One Meme that Must Never Die

Look, Pavement, I'm really happy for you, but the Pixies had one of the BEST reunion tours ever. The BEST.

Look, Joe Wilson and Glenn Beck, I'm really happy that you both think you can act like a doofus on national television, but Bill O'Reilley was doing that WAY before you both were. WAAY before.

Look, H1N1, I'm really impressed by the way you're scaring the crap out of everyone, but the 1918 pandemic was the most deadly influenza strain in modern history. THE MOST DEADLY.

Look, Kanye and Taylor, I'm really amazed by your little spat, but the ending of Lady Gaga's performance was the most amazing* thing about the VMAs. Seriously. She looked like a piece of meat.

*And by amazing, I mean terrifying.

The Name on Everybody's Lips is Gonna Be... Jerry?

What does the former host of the most famous daytime talk show ever and the symbol of the downfall of American popular culture do in retirement? Take on the London stage, of course!

Jerry Springer, host of the eponymously named Jerry Springer Show, is now starring as slick lawyer Billy Flynn in the London performance of the popular musical. (His controversial namesake show recorded its last episode May 19 after budget cuts forced it to end). The New York Times review of the show focuses mostly on the obvious parallels between the musical's focus on facade and giving audiences what they want, but overlooks an obscure yet equally important parallel-- Springer's enormously successful political career. Springer worked on Robert F. Kennedy's campaign, held a seat on the Cincinatti town council and served as mayor, ran for Governor of Ohio, and according to his aides, had the charisma to run and win the presidency.

The story of how the most popular mayor of Cincinatti--ever-- made the change from upstanding, beloved political leader to questionable pop culture icon is detailed in a radio story that first aired on a 2004 episode of This American Life. If you haven't heard it, drop everything you're doing and listen to it right now-- it's an amazing character portrait and an extraordinary story that will blow your mind.

Jerry Springer's story takes on another dynamic in my current state of mind, which is roughly summarized as "oh my god I graduate next May what am I going to do with my life help help". Does anyone ever become exactly what they dreamed of being? And if not, is that good or bad?

Enough existential musing. Listen to the episode, and tell me if it doesn't make you want to hang out with Jerry Springer and find out exactly who he is.

Summer is...

Summer is for food budget-induced pseudovegetarianism.

Summer is for overcoming one's dislike of sand in exchange for the triumphant return of one's freckles.

Summer is for trying to teach 15 rowdy fourth graders the Italian words for tempi... and succeeding!

Summer is for getting caught in the rain and picked up by your housemate.

Summer is for hopefully reviving this blog... with book reviews, random musings, links and other decently entertaining things.*


*Yes, that includes Spam Quarantine Digest.

dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun DUN dun dun dun dun dun dun

If you're at all familiar with classical music, you may understand the title of this brief post, and be interested in checking out Google's homepage today! I posted about it on LOLbums, my other not-so-frequently updated blog. Reviving LOLbums (existential question: can you call it reviving a blog if there was only one post? hmmm...) is one of my goals this summer, along with applying for the Fulbright and Marshall scholarships, freelancing, exercising, playing my horn, curing cancer, and stopping the Earth from spinning on its access. At the moment, my activities more closely resemble playing with peanut sauce, going for long runs and getting lost, doing occasional research, and calling alums for money (hey, it's a legit job!) but let's not dwell on that.

Yes, this really is a police photo of Stravinsky! He was arrested in Boston in 1940 while conducting his arrangement of the Star Spangled Banner. Apparently he had broken an archaic law which made the reharmonization of the national anthem illegal. Methinks they just didn't like the arrangement, though. But who knows-- those policemen could have been classically trained!

Today's Menu: Spam Quarantine Digest Vol. 2

Apologies for the lack of posting-- I've been working on several posts, but by the time each post is close to done, it's no longer relevant. I do have one about the anniversary of the Tienamen Square massacre that I may post anyway even though that was, oh, last week. Stay tuned for thoughtful if belated commentary!

Today I turn to a less somber subject but one no less near and dear to my heart: spam. As I noted here, I get a kick out of reading the Spam Quarantine digest Brown's email service provides as a way to protect lonely undergrads desperate to enlarge their penises from internet scams. Today's digest brought a few more excellent entries:

"Sensation! Hollywood virgins' list!" This email just goes to show you the delightful ambiguity a grammar error can add to one's writing. Not only are there virgins in Hollywood (audible gasp!) but they have a list! Whatever could be on it?! Names of people not to have sex with? I also like the thought that the crazed sex fiends this email is clearly supposed to be targeting would want to know about those stars who are keeping their legs superglued together until marriage.

"Shock! NYers crapped pants" Oh wow, the contents of this email surprised those jaded New Yorkers?? I have to read it! What could it possibly be? Affordable housing prices?

"Hello, wise guy!" Now don't get cheeky with me, Mr. Spambot. Just because I'm Italian and I've got mafia connections doesn't mean you have any right to call me that. I know what's up.

In my previous post (see link above) I discussed the "message from a friend" genre of spam, where the headline of the email, despite being from Kwame_Nigeri666@internet-scam.com, is supposed to convince the reader that a friend is either angry at them or trapped outside in the snow. I am pleased to announce that my "message from a friend" emails are no longer from a friend who is angry that I locked them out in a Minnesota winter with only a laptop, but are now from friends who are angry that I shirked my part of a project. I'm no longer only a passive-aggressive backstabber-- I'm an intellectual passive-agressive backstabber. Moving up in the world!

Teenagers Like to Touch Each Other, Study Shows

An increasing number of American teenagers enjoy physical contact with their peers, a study released yesterday indicates.

Americans between the ages of 12 and 20 enjoy behaviors such as "high-fiving, hugging, kissing, necking, snogging, slapping each other upside the head, playing 'Miss Mary Mack,' tickling each other and French braiding each other's hair," said Dr. Aaron Schmitt, a behavioral psychologist at Avondale University, in a press release Tuesday.

According to Dr. Schmitt, teenagers use physical contact as a way to receive affirmation, bond with friends and acquaintances, and as a prelude to "getting jiggy with it."

When pressed as to how they feel about physical contact, local teenagers responded enthusiastically.

"OMG, I love touching!" said Eliza Ho, 15. "I just, like, totally, like, LOOOOVE hugging my friends hello! They are my best friends ever!!!!!" [Ed. note: Miss Ho requested our paper use at least five exclamation points to convey her love for her friends."

"Touching? It's great!" said Danny Schneider, a 14-year-old freshman at nearby Lakeview High. "I love giving girls hugs. Once this girl I like gave me a hug because I helped her cheat on the math test, and I felt her bra strap!"

Despite the inherent pleasure teenagers seem to derive from it, physical contact comes with its own set of rules, however.

"If you're hugging another guy, you've gotta make sure your crotch isn't anywhere near anyone else's," said Schneider.

"It's even better if you both shout 'NOT GAY! NOT GAY!' while patting each other on the back really hard," added his friend, Michael "No Homo" Ross, also 14.

Like their male counterparts, teenage girls also abide by a strict code when engaging in physical contact.

"There was this one girl who, like, totally offended me by wearing the same earrings as me AND liking the same guy," said Ho. "So when I found out about those things, the next time I saw her, I gave her a half-hearted side hug. THAT sure showed her!"

The code also governs male-female contact, though it has varying degrees of success.

"There was this guy who was totally into me, but I didn't like him in THAT way, so I hugged him for two seconds instead of three, but I don't think he got it," said Ho.

Was his name Danny, by any chance?

"How did you know?"

Some things never change.

Original Article: For Teenagers, Hello Means "How about a Hug?"
Further Reading: Is Hugging Bad for Teens?, New York Times Baffled by Teens Hugging

Shedding Light

"Media Activism Turns Two: A Portrait of Street Sights." The College Hill Independent, 16 April 2009.

I wrote this piece about Street Sights, the housing and homelessness paper I'll hopefully be working with this summer, and was rather pleased with how it turned out. I was even more pleased when the staff told me how much they liked the piece and how accurately they felt it portrayed them. As a history student frequently dealing with issues of agency and enfranchisement, it was an issue I had worried about quite a bit; the last thing I would want to do when writing about a publication designed to give voice the voiceless would be to misrepresent it and its constituency.

One Night Only!

"Sisters Singing melds writing, music, spirit." Arts Advance, Asheville Citizen-Times, 29 March 2009.

All hail my first arts advance from the Asheville Citizen-Times: another product of my week at home. If you're in Asheville, definitely consider checking out this event: it promises to be an inspiring evening.

Writing advances is always fun; the people I need to interview are always excited about the event and more than happy to talk. My sources for this article were especially helpful. Thanks to their generosity and enthusiasm, I may even be reviewing this anthology at a later date, so keep your eyes peeled!

In Translation

As part of my ongoing plan to become a better person and/or appear more erudite (they're the same thing, right?) I have been reading Harper's, the oldest general interest monthly in America. While the cover art may regularly resemble the tissue boxes in your crazy great-aunt's home and the content can be sometimes obtuse, the writing is always stylistically perfect. If you're a big nerd or aspiring pseudo-intellectual like i am, I suggest you get on that.

Wyatt Mason, who clearly has the best life ever, recently wrote a column discussing Samuel Beckett's forays into writing in French. According to Mason, the disenchanted Beckett began writing in his second language to escape "the mastery he had in English."

That statement about Beckett's mastery of English caused a slight crisis. I was at first indignant that Mason would imply that anyone could "master" English. English is beautiful, but elusive and obtuse-- surely even the greatest writers stumble occasionally.

Yet if there's anyone who has mastered English, it's Beckett. He's far from being my favorite author, yet I can't help but envy him. Read any of his writing-- especially his plays-- and it becomes apparent that Beckett has an unparalleled control of language, both on the micro and macro levels. It is precisely able because he is able to precisely control the structure of his phrases, sentences, paragraphs and his works as a whole that his works succeed as minimalist phenomena, open to interpretation-- really, a truly enviable feat. Having mastered English and severely messed with our minds in the process, Beckett is clearly free to go on to write in other languages in order to better challenge himself.

In contrast, my "mastery" of my native tongue is far from approaching Beckett's talent. Though I would consider myself to be above average in terms of language skills, I still struggle with some elements of English; I frequently find myself at a bizarre impasse when forced to choose between 'that' and 'which,' and when I'm feeling lazy or tired (which is, sadly, often), I am wont to turn nouns into gerunds instead of attaching an appropriate noun ("How was Anthropology-ing?").

Herein lies the source of a small crisis brewing in my gerund-loving mind. If I'm not even close to mastering English, why am I learning Spanish? How can I expect to attain control over my first language if I spend so much time and energy attempting to learn another?

The answer is two-fold. The first point is that learning Spanish has taught me much more about English than many of my English classes ever have. Despite my otherwise excellent luck with humanities teachers throughout my secondary education, the English teacher who was supposed to teach me grammar handed us out workbooks without ever lecturing on past participles.

The second is Beckett's own reason for choosing to temporarily abandon English. Once one has achieved basic proficiency in a language, writing it it can actually be a freeing creative experience. Because of my incomplete grasp of Spanish grammar and my limited vocabulary, I perceive the standards for my writing to be lower and thus write in a less complex but perhaps no less creative manner.

This latter reason became readily apparent to me last week due to an unfortunate confluence of my tendency to procrastinate and a heavy pre-spring break work load. I was suddenly stricken with the need to write 17 pages in Spanish in one week, a feat which I regularly complete in English, but seemed daunting in a foreign language, necessitating many late nights and a cumulative 36 hours in the library.

I should note here that I'm usually a very careful writer who spends an obscene amount of time editing her work. (This in itself might explain why I never post regularly on this blog.) This is usually true of my writing process in Spanish as well. Not so last week; there simply wasn't time. As I watched the clock tick past 3 and 4 every night, I fulfilled each required prompts, quickly proofread my writing, and forged on to the next one.

The result? Some of the most ridiculous, manic and yet creative writing I've ever done. I'm not going to win any awards with it, but I'm pretty proud of myself for managing to write some creative if insane little short stories in a language in which I am barely proficient. What's more, my writing managed to be literary in style, if not necessarily in content. My stupid fable about two foxes who didn't know how to communicate made good use of parallel structure, as did the incredibly depressing reflections of someone locked in a tower who felt neither pain nor happiness. And I thought my short story about a vegan woman who kills her unfaithful, bovine-philic husband with a large zucchini had its fair share of drama and suspense.

I can't remember the last time I wrote fiction in English; I avoid the genre simply because I always place pressure on myself to write something "complex" and "profound" and then end up chickening out and not producing anything at all. Yet when I'm ordered to write in a foreign language, I can write short fiction at the drop of the hat, simply because I believe the standards for profundity for my writing to be lower. I don't plan to make a career out of consistently writing about the disconnect between vegans and omnivores, and yet, there's something to be learned here. It's more important to write something than to write something profound, no matter the language in which one chooses to express oneself.

The picture that accompanies this insanely long and self-masturbatory blog post is of a keychain that emits a potpourri of Spanish swear words when squeezed. Obviously, a useful tool for any student of the language.

There's more than one kind of "green" that's good for the economy...

"Supporting tailgate markets now makes more sense than ever." Editorial, Asheville Citizen-Times. 26 March 2009.

I was back at the AC-T this week, where I had the opportunity to not only read some amazing and insane letters, but also to do a bit of writing. I really enjoyed writing this editorial; it's on a subject pretty near and dear to my heart (who doesn't like fresh vegetables?) and makes a really important point, I think-- if you want to see change in your local economy, change the way you spend your money.

Thanks again to the excellent editors (Hi Dave! Hi Jim!) in the Editorial department at the AC-T for indulging me and making my writing better.

It's Not Funny

"A Letter to the Editor: The Pain of Going Public with Domestic Violence." The College Hill Independent, 26 February 2009.

This piece was originally conceived as a Week in Review (read: brief news analysis) about the Rihanna/Chris Brown domestic violence incident, which ended up being too long to be a snappy WIR but too short to really evaluate the issues present inside. Because of the opinionated tone, it got slapped with the title of "Letter to the Editor" but was still printed on the news page. Oy.

Needless to say, I don't know what the heck it is now. I feel like there's a lot of good stuff in here that I didn't have the room (or the expertise or chops) to expand on. The media's treatment of domestic violence is something that deserves a much more serious treatment than a third of a page can do, and something I'd like to approach in the future.

In other news, I've written other stuff this semester, but it's not online yet. It'll be posted and backdated soon. I do hereby solemnly swear to update a bit more regularly, as well. Promises, promises...

That's Gotta Hurt

I know, I know. I haven't really posted since I got back to school. It really wasn't my intention to snub the miniscule readership of this blog. At least it doesn't hurt as much as crotch-crashing into a camera on national television, though.


LOLbums, the collaborative music blog I started with the lovely and snarkful Eva Kurtz-Nelson, is up and running. And it actually has content now! You can read my post about the Boss' Superbowl hijinks and the status of aging rockstars, and then add it to your blogroll. DO IT. You can always use another form of procrastination, you know.

I'll post an update soon with beginning o' the semester thoughts soon. Also, watch for the return of "Adrienne Attempts to Write for Every Publication that Ever Existed!" Until then, be safe, and don't even attempt to toss your guitar at an unsuspecting roadie.

Clearing the Air

"Thornburg got it right with ruling on TVA pollution." Editorial, Asheville Citizen-Times, 22 January 2009.

I may have returned to Brown, but I'm still managing to write at the AC-T in spirit. Actually, I finished this editorial on my last day and it just now ran. This one was tough for me to write, because I knew almost nothing about coal power when I began. I'm really glad I had the opportunity to write this-- I wouldn't have done as much research about what is a really important issue. So now I know about coal. Hooray!

Still working on my editorial voice. For some reason, I'm less folksy and snarky when I'm writing as an editorial board. The editors at the AC-T were very patient with me and gave me good edits for this, as always.

The day is finally here...

"Asheville residents recall meeting Obama." Features Article, Asheville Citizen-Times, 18 January 2009.

We've all waited for it. Dreamed about it. Considered how much better our lives would be after it. At times, it seemed like it would never come about. But that day is finally here.

At long last, I have written my first features article for a non-campus publication. It's time to break out the champagne, obviously.

I really enjoyed the process of putting together this article-- though I was a bit apprehensive about doing interviews, my worries soon faded away once I started talking to people and hearing their stories. When I hear someone get excited about something, I can't help but get excited about it as well, which makes the story so much easier to write. I felt like the narrative for this story just fell together.

The night this article ran, I received a call from Payam, the Iranian-American I interviewed, thanking me for the article and how I portrayed him. When writing, I always worry about presenting the truth. I felt like I had received the ultimate compliment, to receive such high praise from one of my subjects.

I know this isn't a hard-hitting news story, and I don't pretend that this was especially trying to research, but I think I'm allowed to feel proud of what I've done. The world needs to hear about the Payams of the world just as much as we need to be informed of attacks in Gaza or plane crashes.

Spam: Delicious (sort of), Nutritious (sort of), and Always Hilarious

Like many, despite the fact that I purchase my penis-enhancement drugs in back alleys* instead of on the internet, I receive a lot of spam to my email account. Many are the garden variety "Nigerian banker" messages, but there are some with particularly amusing titles. Here are some of my favorites, with spelling and grammar preserved in all of their mediocre glory.

"Outlast and outhit her" -- playing softball with your new girlfriend? You'll win, don't worry: all women have terrible hand-eye coordination.

"Your chemist wants to know if you areinterested..." -- He's discovered the philosopher's stone. It's 10 inches long and will keep you forever young.

"Watch her creamy jugs bounce" -- I assume this would link me to www.sexxxymilkmaids.com or something similar.

"So hard it's like a rock" -- They must be trying to sell me a Chevy truck. (Remember those commercials?)

"She scream in pain and pleasure" -- I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream! Ow, ow ow, brain freeze!

"Stop being a loser" -- could have used this in middle school, I suppose.

"Raid her vault tonight" -- no. just... no. Dear Mr. Spambot: you ain't comin' anywhere near my vault tonight, tomorrow night or any other night, for that matter. Even if it means I have to put guard dogs up around the perimeter.

"Who doesn't love a big gun in the pants?" -- who doesn't love an accidental shot in the leg? Oooh, ooh, ooh! Me!

"High-quality copies of swell watches!" -- well, golly gee whiz! Looks like Alfalfa and the rest of the gang from Little Rascals learned how to use the internet! And they're creating their own Ponzi scheme too! Ha ha ha, they're so cute!

"Obama show McCain what a real debate should be" -- wow, that sounds kind of hot, actually. I mean, what?

"Lead your boner to leadership" -- There are no words. I really couldn't make this one any funnier if I tried.

There have been a recent slew of messages that seem to be from people I've abandoned. "I've missed you." "Lost my number?)" "I don't know where are you!" "When will we meet again?" "It's cold outside." Not my problem, dude. For future reference, if I have abandoned you, email is not the best way to contact me, especially if you're about to freeze to death. I don't have an iPhone, and in spite of how it may seem, don't spend all of my time in front of my computer.

Which reminds me... there are also a series of messages that may or may not refer to iPhones and how badly women love them:

"Real men, real tools"
"She's so desperate for me now"
"When she saw it, her face lit up"
"Watch her get instantly geeked" -- really, I don't know what else this could refer to. Is this something in Urban Dictionary I should know about?

While it's true that women really go for "electronic devices" of a certain size or shape, guys, it's important to remember that it's not the size of your iPhone, but rather, how you use it that will ultimately make your woman happy. For example, you could use it to look up a new romantic restaurant or a jewelry store nearby. Chicks love that crap.

What about you all? Any favorite spam messages from the peanut gallery?

Hell No, We Won't Go... To the Ghettos, or to Crappy Chick Flicks

I went to see Defiance today with my family, which is the second WWII movie I've seen since I've been home. I was totally into the concept of the film-- I'm very interested in both the Holocaust and Daniel Craig (in different ways, of course) so it sounded like it was going to be pretty good

The only problem: it was also a film that involved a lot of traipsing around in the forest. And films that involve a lot of meandering through the forest inevitably have meandering plots as well. Telling the story of a group of nearly 1200 people is not without difficulties, and Defiance had a hard time creating a cohesive storyline with fleshed-out, multi faceted characters. Issues that should have been present throughout the entire film -- the meaning of resistance, the humanity of the enemy, diaspora -- popped up briefly, only to disappear again. Also, deus ex machina should just not be allowed in films about the Holocaust.

Defiance wasn't bad by any means; the performances were heartfelt, if not outstanding, and it treated its subject in a very sensitive manner. But with so many other outstanding, tightly written Holocaust films in existence, its weaknesses made it almost seem like an artistic lightweight in comparison. It certainly opened my eyes to a part of the Holocaust I haven't studied in much depth, and I'll definitely be picking up the monograph the film is based on -- I feel like the compelling story of the Bielski Otriad would be better told in book form.

More staggering than the filmmakers' decision not to use more Jewish actors (Craig acted well, but looked more like a rugby player alongside many of the Eastern European Jewish supporting actors) was the movie theater's decision to show the trailer for He's Just Not That Into You -- a bona fide boneheaded chick flick, before Defiance.

I'm usually only mildly incensed by most chick flicks, but HJNTIY took my anger to new levels. The portrayals of both men and women seemed grossly inaccurate, and, quite frankly, wildly offensive. Watch the trailer for yourself.

But wait! Maybe they only seemed inaccurate because I'm not in my late twenties/early thirties yet. Once the biological alarm clock goes off and starts demanding that I get to babymakin', maybe I'll be just as pathetic as the women of HJNTIY, who stare at their cell phones through yoga class, waiting for the confused, dim male stars of the movie to call them. I can't wait until I am consumed by the quiet panic of the genetically ingrained need to marry and everything else in my life seems meaningless. Woo hoo!

Also, they used the Cure's "Friday I'm in Love" in the preview. Not OK. The Cure are all about moping unapologetically in the abstract sense. One cannot fully appreciate the genius of "Bloodflowers" or "Kiss Me Kiss Me Kiss Me" while waiting by the phone for the latest mediocre barfly to call. One should be between the ages of 14 and 21 and preferably wearing a Smiths T-Shirt. Zing.

Turn your head, cough, and ponder the health care crisis in this country...

"Let's not let health care slide during this recession." Editorial, Asheville Citizen-Times, 6 January 2009.

My first-ever editorial for any publication! It's fun yet terrifying to write as the opinion of the paper's editorial staff-- on one hand, you have the excitement, power and anonymity of writing the opinion of a group that holds high standing in a community; on the other, you have a feeling best described as "oh gosh what if i screw up and make everyone think the paper endorses bestiality*???" So it can be very hard to balance these two emotions when writing an editorial.

All in all, though, this was fun to write. It was a challenging assignment in many (good) ways, and I know I didn't fully capture the difficulty of the health care situation. There are some people who just can't afford health care, no matter what, and I feel kind of bad for telling them it's their duty to go to the doctor.

Fun game for readers: how many health care-related puns can you find in this editorial? First one to respond with the correct answer wins a comprehensive single-payer national health care system!


*For the record, the Asheville Citizen-Times does not endorse bestiality. Just in case that wasn't clear in the editorial

It is Written

I'm going to join the thunderous chorus of approval ricocheting around the world for Slumdog Millionaire, which has thankfully been echoed by the Golden Globe voters. Drop everything and see this beautifully filmed and expertly crafted Dickensian tale-- I've never seen a crowd more riveted in the movie theatre than when I went to see the film on Saturday night.

The cast is phenomenal, especially the young children. The movie has received some criticism for what some consider to be a cavalier portrayal of poverty in India, but I thought the actors displayed an acute sensitivity towards a difficult subject. Dev Patel's flickering-eyed Jamal effectively captures the lingering effects of his character's childhood trauma. Watching him sweat as each question brings back intense and sometimes violent memories, you wonder just what goes on in the heads of other game show contestants you see while flipping channels idly.


Also, I am so excited for Waltz with Bashir- an animated documentary about one man's attempt to remember his experiences during the 1982 Lebanon war. The preview that ran before the film was breathtaking, and from what I've read, it sounds like the film takes a multifaceted approach to what is a very difficult and controversial subject.

I could say that I prefer Oscar season to the summer movie season because the films are artistically superior and more interesting and whatnot, and that would be true. But the other reason I love shelling out 10 bucks nearly every weekend from January to March is that the subjects of the films tend to be difficult, dark, and depressing. I inherently prefer 'depressing' to 'action' or 'fluff' because (a) I am a masochist, and (b) I am the originator of the greatest fake concentration ever, Depressing Studies.

Nutcase Spotlight: Cal Thomas

I've not been doing so well at this whole "posting on my blog" thing, and I apologize for that. It's mostly because my time has been taken up by other writing and editing endeavors at the newspaper I'm interning at over break (more to come on that).

Today, I'd like to share one of my most favorite nutcases of all time with you: Cal Thomas.



Cal Thomas is a syndicated columnist, the bent of whose opinion can be most kindly described as "far-right-wing." He speaks for the disenfranchised righteous conservatives of America. He used to have a fantastic moustache, which he shaved in 2006.

It takes a certain type of man to wear a caterpillar on his upper lip, and that man is the #1 syndicated columnist in America. But even that's not enough to pull off that shirt and tie combination. Sorry, Cal.

But enough fashion commentary from me, Goddess of the Mismatched Socks. There is much more to love to hate about Mr. Thomas than his sartorial choices.

Cal has two pet issues. The first is the plight of the religious right in America, which makes sense, considering he was the president of the Moral Majority from 1980 to 1985. Apparently, the religious right is on its way out... unless its members make drastic changes. Do something, concerned citizen, before it's too late!

Cal's other issue is Israel. He is the platonic ideal of the extremist, non-Jewish, pro-Israeli right-winger who has co-opted the pro-Israel stance in such a way that he paints anyone who proffers a different stance on how to solve the conflict as anti-Israel and anti-Jewish. I have yet to read a more righteous, dogmatic opinion on the situation in the Middle East from any other source.

Take his recent column, "The Gaza Nazis." Cal asserts that Hamas is, essentially, the new Nazi party, because both groups share a genocidal bent against the Jews, and doesn't go much further than that:

Jews are vermin and less than human, Hamas says. Oh, wait. Wasn't the same said of the Jews by the Nazis? The only difference is that today's killers don't speak German.

Whoa whoa whoa. This is not the place for me to get into my views on the Holocaust or the Middle East or a long treatise on my views on making historical comparisons, but something needs to be said about this. I concede the existence of similarities between Hamas and National Socialism (and also every other group in the history of the world that has tried to wipe out the Jews), but it is downright stupid to argue for a near-identical historical comparison between two groups using one point of ideology. Both the Holocaust and the Gaza issue are too complex to be reduced to such a caricature.

Furthermore, a statement along the lines of:

Is there an Arabic equivalent of "Sieg Heil"?

serves no purpose than to fan the flames of the hatred-fueled fire of the Israel- Palestine issue.

Moving on...Cal is a hard-hitting journalist. He hosts Fox News Watch, a program that's dedicated to ferreting out the liberal media. And lest you think he's naught but another talking head of the vast right-wing conspiracy, check out this recent interview he did with President Bush. Talk about in-depth!

But really, there's more to Cal than I give him credit for. I was reminded of this with his December 31st column, entitled "Make Love, Not War!" My first thought on reading this was that Cal must be going senile, and decided to reconnect with his true hippie self as a New Year's resolution. My second instinct was that he had lost a bet.

But alas, both of my initial instincts were wrong. The article is about a supposed CIA plan to give Taliban warlords Viagra.

The column, which only contains information from anonymous sources, features such pithy remarks as:

Not many would describe consensual sex as torture.

I'd agree with that. Well, unless you lie back and think of Dick Cheney.

And:

Adolf Hitler was 5 feet 8 inches tall. Josef Stalin was short and variously reported to be between 5-4 and 5-6. Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is 5-4. Mao Zedong was 5-11, possibly the tallest of the modern despots. We know that Hitler and Mao had sexual hang-ups. Could all dictators share the same problem? Would Viagra, or something similar, have lessened the possibility of forced famines, war, the Holocaust and other mass killings? Were these caused at least in part by pent-up feelings of sexual inadequacy?

Cal, you've rendered me speechless.

And that, dear friends, is why I keep reading Cal Thomas, mustache or no.

The President-Elect Walks into a Bar...

"We can learn to laugh with politicians, not just at them." Guest Commentary, Asheville Citizen-Times, 7 January 2009.

I had a lot of fun writing this. Pieces like these remind me of why I love writing opinions-- I love the opportunity to use a snappy, critical voice and throw in some wordplay as well. In all sincerity, I think that Obama's "mutts like me" comment may be one of the most important statements on race of our time.

Still need to decide if I'm going to be an opinions columnist again this semester. On one hand, I love getting to choose my topic and be playful with my language, but on the other, I really need the reporting experience. Decisions, decisions.

Resolutions for 2009

I know, I know, I promised this blog wouldn't be personal. I don't think I'm breaking that promise, as they aren't too specific; no "I resolve to hold my temper, even around effin' skanks like that slut Mary Sue who pushed me down the stairs for mackin' on her man" or "I resolve to get that huge mole on my left buttock removed. Even though it's good for predicting the weather, it really detracts from my sex appeal, and I fear it may be cancerous."* Nope, nothing like that, fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your perspective).

So here are my resolutions for the year. I'm posting them in this great public forum we call the internet, because I'm trusting you, my friends, to keep me honest.

- I resolve to write more, and to never stop critiquing and making what I produce better. Ideally, I will write something (other than school assignments) everyday.

- I resolve to exercise more, and maybe even run a 5k or half-marathon. Actually, maybe I'd better start by running a mile without stopping. But the sentiment is there!

- I resolve to practice the French horn more. I literally cannot remember the last time I actually legitimately practiced my instrument, which may explain my

- I resolve to relegate all bouts of self-pity to less than 15 minutes, ideally 10. I also resolve to not allow myself to start another bout immediately after I finish one.

-On a related note, I resolve to reallocate the time I use brooding, stewing or worrying for other pursuits.

- I resolve to be less afraid of the phone, and in general, better at returning calls, emails and letters.

- I resolve to become the editor-in-chief of a major alternative weekly publication, achieve fame and fortune as an internationally-known hand model, and win the lottery. Hey, everyone needs something impossible to strive for.

And with that, I wish you all a happy new year.


*For the record, I don't have a huge mole on my left buttock, or anywhere else on my body. That skank Mary Sue, however, is a different story...