I was about to go to bed when I saw this photo and had to share it. I mean seriously. Hilarious. Bush looks strangely like Howdy-Doody.(I do not own this photo)
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Last Laugh
I was about to go to bed when I saw this photo and had to share it. I mean seriously. Hilarious. Bush looks strangely like Howdy-Doody.(I do not own this photo)
Title IX
Way back in November my dear friend Emilie (unintentionally) began a discussion that kind of evolved into one on women in music. It started with a comment about being disappointed in what came out of the artists of Lilith Fair since the tour ended, and concluded on the status of women in music today.
(now pause that thought)
This evening I saw the headline that Mia Hamm and Julie Foudy had been elected into the US Soccer Hall of Fame in their first year of eligibility. Of course Hamm now holds the record for highest number of votes cast and highest winning percentage, of which she is completely deserving. Anyway, reading the highlights of their monumental careers suddenly got me thinking about that discussion about music months ago. And not just because Emilie is a kick ass athlete with tons of heart, skill and guts (I first accidentally wrote asslete. I almost left it). There was something special about that time.
In hindsight, the late 90s were a good time to be a young woman. We had role models in places where none were a few years prior. Role models make doors in sheer cement walls. I think about the rise of Lilith Fair, the famous Women's World Cup where Brandi Chastain ripped off her jersey after winning the shootout in front of 90,000 fans...hell, even the Ya-Ya Sisterhood came out in those same few years. We had the first woman to play NCAA Divison I football kick a field goal, for cryin' out loud. If that wasn't empowering...
And then there was Claire Danes! Who didn't want to be Claire Danes!?
What saddens me is that the wave of role models hasn't really been followed by anything else. Lilith lead to, what? The Spice Girls? Britney? Avril? Hells no. What do we have that could ever compare or continue? Truly the only musician with the appeal and chops to even consider such an endeavor would be Norah Jones, who just doesn't inspire an all-day concert tour event. Maybe some chai tea in a overstuffed chair, yes, but not outdoor pavilion music.
Will we ever have a female asslete (giggle) whose influence could ever touch the width and breadth of Mia Hamm's? Venus and Serena Williams have appeal, but not at all in the same way. They are too Hollywood. And they play tennis. La de friggin' da.
I want there to be women for my nieces and my little sister to see who prove that the world is possible. Not just because you show off your body, or are a whore, or because you are beautiful. Do ya'll know of anyone I'm missing here? Role Models of that caliber?
(now pause that thought)
This evening I saw the headline that Mia Hamm and Julie Foudy had been elected into the US Soccer Hall of Fame in their first year of eligibility. Of course Hamm now holds the record for highest number of votes cast and highest winning percentage, of which she is completely deserving. Anyway, reading the highlights of their monumental careers suddenly got me thinking about that discussion about music months ago. And not just because Emilie is a kick ass athlete with tons of heart, skill and guts (I first accidentally wrote asslete. I almost left it). There was something special about that time.
In hindsight, the late 90s were a good time to be a young woman. We had role models in places where none were a few years prior. Role models make doors in sheer cement walls. I think about the rise of Lilith Fair, the famous Women's World Cup where Brandi Chastain ripped off her jersey after winning the shootout in front of 90,000 fans...hell, even the Ya-Ya Sisterhood came out in those same few years. We had the first woman to play NCAA Divison I football kick a field goal, for cryin' out loud. If that wasn't empowering...
And then there was Claire Danes! Who didn't want to be Claire Danes!?
What saddens me is that the wave of role models hasn't really been followed by anything else. Lilith lead to, what? The Spice Girls? Britney? Avril? Hells no. What do we have that could ever compare or continue? Truly the only musician with the appeal and chops to even consider such an endeavor would be Norah Jones, who just doesn't inspire an all-day concert tour event. Maybe some chai tea in a overstuffed chair, yes, but not outdoor pavilion music.
Will we ever have a female asslete (giggle) whose influence could ever touch the width and breadth of Mia Hamm's? Venus and Serena Williams have appeal, but not at all in the same way. They are too Hollywood. And they play tennis. La de friggin' da.
I want there to be women for my nieces and my little sister to see who prove that the world is possible. Not just because you show off your body, or are a whore, or because you are beautiful. Do ya'll know of anyone I'm missing here? Role Models of that caliber?
Monday, February 26, 2007
Mosaic
I've been busy lately with things outside of work and I love it. Last week I spent Monday with friends who came out to camp to enjoy the nice weather with kids and dogs and then back to their house for a big dinner and games, then Tuesday I missed a birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese b/c my nap turned into the previous post titled "Could", Wednesday was a impromptu trip to Greenville, SC for some BBQ at a place that ended up being closed (BAH!), Thursday was watching "Lost" online at Caroline's house before racing back to catch "Grey's" at Eva's. Friday was another big dinner night in West Asheville and talking with friends about nerdy topics and a sleepover. Saturday was a big breakfast, a great hike just off the Blue Ridge Parkway, a late lunch at the Bakery and "Waiting for Guffman" over freshly made pizza. Sunday church was such a refreshing experience and the lunch afterward went right along with the community. Sunday afternoon was time to rest, read and...wait, I have no recollection of yesterday. None. What did I do yesterday afternoon? Last night? I feel like the guy from "Memento" all of a sudden...
There are days when my life has the feeling of a mosaic; a collection of overlapping stories and punchlines: the poignant and the pugnacious, the preposterous and the petty. Sometimes I feel like all I am are stories. I simply tell them because they are mine, not because they free me or offer others any insight. I give them in place of me. Does that make sense? Instead of giving who I am I present stories.
I guess I'm thinking on how I define myself to others, both consciously and unconsciously, and how I'd ever learn to go about it differently.
There are days when my life has the feeling of a mosaic; a collection of overlapping stories and punchlines: the poignant and the pugnacious, the preposterous and the petty. Sometimes I feel like all I am are stories. I simply tell them because they are mine, not because they free me or offer others any insight. I give them in place of me. Does that make sense? Instead of giving who I am I present stories.
I guess I'm thinking on how I define myself to others, both consciously and unconsciously, and how I'd ever learn to go about it differently.
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Work in Progress
This afternoon I checked my email to find I had a new myspace comment from an old friend from college. He'd posted it at close to 3am, so I'm assuming (hoping?) he was drunk when he wrote it. The jist of the comment was, "Christian!? Not when you..." and it went on to list, in salacious detail, some of those things in my life that I am least proud of.
Things that also occurred, oh, 8 years ago.
I'm reeling, honestly. I kind of want to cry. I can't believe how much that has stung.
This is someone who I was close to the first two years of college, then we grew apart as our habits and circles of friends changed. We are myspace friends by approximation; it's not as if we've communicated in any detail in the past 6 years so this comment was not only unsolicited, it was out of left field.
I can't figure out where his anger comes from, to leave a comment like that. I don't know why my statement of Christianity was so offensive to him, he's normally a pretty chill guy. It's not like my myspace page has a large picture of Blond Swedish Jesus on it, with my hobbies being "the stations of the cross" and "judging sinners". It simply says, at the bottom, "Religion: Christian-other". Doesn't sound too holier-than-thou to me, Church Lady.
Here is the thing: I know what I've done; I don't have to be reminded. I haven't forgotten, and frankly I don't hide it or gloss over it, as most who've met me in the years since can attest. I am disconnected from it, however, because it was long ago and I've been changed out of that. I am different; that is not who I am. I am not the worst of me, just as I am not my greatest successes. This knowledge has cemented me today.
Needless to say I immediately deleted his comment; my little sister checks my page and that isn't something for anyone to read. I sent him a response that simply said, "What can I say? People change. Especially after 8 years have passed." Part of me wants to see healing in that friendship, as some is obviously needed but part of me says to leave it be. Some people cannot let others be anyone but who they were at a specific point in time.
After all this I did add something to my page:
"It is by the grace of God that I am a work in progress and my mistakes don't define me. Simple as that."
I have never been more thankful that such a statement is true.
Things that also occurred, oh, 8 years ago.
I'm reeling, honestly. I kind of want to cry. I can't believe how much that has stung.
This is someone who I was close to the first two years of college, then we grew apart as our habits and circles of friends changed. We are myspace friends by approximation; it's not as if we've communicated in any detail in the past 6 years so this comment was not only unsolicited, it was out of left field.
I can't figure out where his anger comes from, to leave a comment like that. I don't know why my statement of Christianity was so offensive to him, he's normally a pretty chill guy. It's not like my myspace page has a large picture of Blond Swedish Jesus on it, with my hobbies being "the stations of the cross" and "judging sinners". It simply says, at the bottom, "Religion: Christian-other". Doesn't sound too holier-than-thou to me, Church Lady.
Here is the thing: I know what I've done; I don't have to be reminded. I haven't forgotten, and frankly I don't hide it or gloss over it, as most who've met me in the years since can attest. I am disconnected from it, however, because it was long ago and I've been changed out of that. I am different; that is not who I am. I am not the worst of me, just as I am not my greatest successes. This knowledge has cemented me today.
Needless to say I immediately deleted his comment; my little sister checks my page and that isn't something for anyone to read. I sent him a response that simply said, "What can I say? People change. Especially after 8 years have passed." Part of me wants to see healing in that friendship, as some is obviously needed but part of me says to leave it be. Some people cannot let others be anyone but who they were at a specific point in time.
After all this I did add something to my page:
"It is by the grace of God that I am a work in progress and my mistakes don't define me. Simple as that."
I have never been more thankful that such a statement is true.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Oldies and Irish Drinking Songs
I woke up this morning with "Charlie on the MTA" by the Kingston Trio in my head. I haven't heard the song in at least a year, so it was a surprise to find its barres running across my brain, but all day it was a still quiet voice singing "...but will he ever return? No he never return and his fate is still unlearned...."
What?
I am bat shit insane.
"Charlie on the MTA" is one of those songs where I know all the words to it and have no idea why. It's like oldies songs, where you know all the words to these really odd songs and you have absolutely no idea why you know them. It's not like you seek out the oldies. You don't scan the stations hoping to catch that classic hit by Jan and Dean. You don't say, "Oh boy! It's the Beach Boys!" But when they come on, you just sing along like a little kid. Are we born knowing the basic words to "Leader of the Pack" or "Rockin' Robin"? Is it part of our duty as Americans? Can we find a way to use this brain power for something else?
And then there's my weird Irish thing, where I subconsciously turn songs into Irish drinking tunes, like "Charlie on the MTA" which is, let's face it, not an Irish song. At all. And then Bob Dylan's "Times They Are A-Changin'" makes me want to hold a frosty pint and swing my arm, singing it like, "Da tiiiiiimmmeees dey arrrr a chaaaaannngin'" for no apparent reason.
Apparently the only way I've found to communicate lately is through music. Seriously. It's a very strange place to be.
What?
I am bat shit insane.
"Charlie on the MTA" is one of those songs where I know all the words to it and have no idea why. It's like oldies songs, where you know all the words to these really odd songs and you have absolutely no idea why you know them. It's not like you seek out the oldies. You don't scan the stations hoping to catch that classic hit by Jan and Dean. You don't say, "Oh boy! It's the Beach Boys!" But when they come on, you just sing along like a little kid. Are we born knowing the basic words to "Leader of the Pack" or "Rockin' Robin"? Is it part of our duty as Americans? Can we find a way to use this brain power for something else?
And then there's my weird Irish thing, where I subconsciously turn songs into Irish drinking tunes, like "Charlie on the MTA" which is, let's face it, not an Irish song. At all. And then Bob Dylan's "Times They Are A-Changin'" makes me want to hold a frosty pint and swing my arm, singing it like, "Da tiiiiiimmmeees dey arrrr a chaaaaannngin'" for no apparent reason.
Apparently the only way I've found to communicate lately is through music. Seriously. It's a very strange place to be.
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