One of sports at which I excelled when I was younger was alpine ski racing. Between the ages of 7 and eleven I won a few races, racked up some hardware (they give medals for 1st-10th place in a lot of junior races which is probably excessive but still really awesome), and built confidence in my abilities. By the end of the 2001-2002 season, when I was thirteen, I wasn't a state champion but one time I won a race because the girl who did end up being the state champion disqualified when she went around the wrong side of the last gate so I convinced myself that I COULD have be a state champion and eventually a bonafide supahstahhhh. This was a prophecy that never self-fulfilled but it would be several years before I would acknowledge the overwhelming evidence suggesting that alpine ski racing was not going to be one of the things that I was even close to being the best at. Unfortunately, by the time I realized this I was already well into my sophomore year at a ski racing academy. Fortunately, because the school was"elite" and contained only 100 students, it satisfied my need to be special and superior, if not within the school then at least compared to most other people on earth. Furthermore, because our soccer team was tiny and I was a standout player, I had more than my fair share of bolstering praise. I just want to be clear that I do appreciate my unique high school experience albeit for unintended reasons. I stayed all four years and I'm not convinced public school would have been any better but I figure the ski racing academy experience is one that not a whole lot of people have insight into and as far as I know it hasn't been written about too much. This might be because, from what I've heard, some ski racing academies don't really make you learn how to write. Not mine. Mine was academically solid, for the record. So without further hooplah, here is some uninvited criticism.
The thing about ski racing is that you need to have money to do it. It's not like baseball or basketball where you can learn to play in the streets or city funded rec leagues and have a Cinderella career. You need to have access to a decent ski hill and a race program and there's really no way around those startup costs even if you end up being a prodigy and someone funds the whole thing for you. I happened to grow up near a prominent east coast ski resort and the ski racing academy I would later attend happened to be a reasonable drive from my house. Equipment and fees for junior races are substantial, but they aren't unmanageable for a family with financial stability and generous grandparents. However, a large bulk of the people who get into the sport aren't necessarily locals and those fees aren't the only costs to factor into the sport. They are people from the city (or state less generously endowed, mountain-wise) who own weekend houses near the resort. Or they are locals, but they are rich locals who live in the more prime locations near the resort. The point is that overall, the sport has a very moneyed vibe and it is a relatively small community on the East Coast and within the US. Skiers are pretty hardcore athletes so individuals in the sport are driven and generally inoffensive but I always felt like I was having some strange recurring nightmare whenever I was getting ready in the lodge before a race. It's all the same people at most races and a lot of the people are kind of all the same person, statistically speaking. From Connecticut or the suburbs of Boston or NYC and hopefully bound for Middlebury or Dartmouth. Probably really into The Dave Matthews Band. I'm not saying I have a problem with people who are that person but it's a whole lot of one type of person to be spending a lot of time with if you aren't that person, you know?
There are scholarships and sponsorships and other means to ensure that the most talented people don't get excluded, but it isn't a very practical sport for those with "potential" unless that "potential" has a big old side serving of "unlimited funds". There are off-season ski camps in Europe, South America, or wherever has snow. There is non-skiing training equipment and physical therapy for when you inevitably destroy your knees, ankles, shoulders and feet. All of this is "optional" as far as the higher-ups at ski academies are officially concerned, but ski coaches are a lot like Jewish grandmas, and guilt is one of their favorite motivational tools. For example, mountain biking is a great off season training activity and one coach in particular was really intent on having us all do it two or three times a week. Did I/Do I like mountain biking? No. It scares me shitless. Did I have enough money to buy a nice enough bike to make me feel any better about it? No, and more importantly I strongly felt that I should not be expected to go out a buy a mountain bike but I will gladly roller skate or run through courses or lift weights or any of the many other off season training options, thank you. But that wasn't really an acceptable response. Why don't I borrow someone elses bike with better shocks? Because I am not a good mountain biker and I'm pretty worried that I'll break it and not be able to afford to pay to have it fixed. Why not cut back on other things and save your money? You'll always be able to use a good mountain bike! No, I won't, because I hate it and I only do it when you force me to. Also, what money?
The issue of paying for training camps isn't any easier to navigate. These are usually 2 or 3 week commitments in places like Switzerland or Argentina and they happen in the summer and the fall. Nevermind the race trips that come later in the season. There are also trips to Colorado or Utah later in early winter. If you opt out of any of these trips your coaches, who tend to be stern and at least vaguely German looking, don't let you forget how much better you might be doing had you participated in whatever trip/s you missed. The school offers scholarships to cover some of the cost but but all scholarship money comes with work hours and if you're already a scholarship student then those hours quickly become overwhelming unless you have no other commitments and becoming a better skier is the only thing you care about. This is a really good system for people who know that they want to ski in college or try to get on the US ski team. It is also a decent system for people who live on campus and can pick up small jobs in the evening or on weekends. But again, for someone with "potential" who would also like to continue playing other sports or generally pursue other interests it is a system that leads to guilt, over-extension and ultimately, a lot of unfinished scholarship hours.
Did I mention that most race fees are upwards of $30? And that even a 50% sponsorship for equipment leaves you with about $1500 to cover? It's a tough game and there no payoff whatsoever unless you are literally one of the best in the country. Best case scenario you get on the US Ski team or get college paid for. I guess it's the same for all sports but somehow ski racing seems a little off-kilter in terms of cost and gain for the bulk of people. I can only assume that the cost isn't an issue for a lot of people otherwise I can't imagine anyone would do it. Ski racing is miserable a lot of the time. It's cold and stressful and after a certain age you can pretty much stop expecting medals if you still haven't optimized all that "potential". And it's an individual sport that you do one person at a time so you can't even get the immediate gratification of seeing the defeat in someones eyes as you stop them in their tracks on their way your goal or breeze by them on your way to theirs. In skiing you take your turn, you get your time, and then you wait to see how well you end up doing and then you do again later in the day and then hours later maybe you get to stand on a podium. I must have liked it all this while I was doing it but thinking about it now all I know is that I still like soccer and the idea of entering a ski race fills my soul with bile. Aaaand this blog is hashing up some negative energy so I'm gonna go ahead and stop right here.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Saturday, April 28, 2012
A Profound State Of In Betweenyness
On May 9th I have an interview for a job in NYC that's a really good fit and pays pretty well and I feel pretty confident about it. But the interview isn't for ten days. In the meantime I don't have a whole lot to do. Until I know about this job one way or the other I'm kind of in limbo. Ten days is soon enough that I can afford to wait til after I know one way or the other until I start applying for jobs again but just far enough away that I can expect to sufficiently drive myself crazy in the meantime. Furthermore until I know whether or not I have a job I shouldn't really spend any money. I'm even taking a $5 bus down to the city for the interview as opposed to my usual $53 dollar train. One of the productive things I could be doing is packing up my stuff for the move but A)that's actually still over two months away and B)I need to buy a really big suitcase and I don't want to do that until I know I have a job.
My options for activities that do not involve spending money are writing, playing music, playing with my dog, cleaning, exercising. There is also the option of being a lazy lump and just watching TV all day. Not the worst set of options, I know, but this is a solid ten days we're talking about here. I am going to need a schedule, a meal plan, and specific daily goals if I want to get the end of each day not feeling like I'm wasting my youth om feckless meandering. Oh, to be a Nihilist!
My options for activities that do not involve spending money are writing, playing music, playing with my dog, cleaning, exercising. There is also the option of being a lazy lump and just watching TV all day. Not the worst set of options, I know, but this is a solid ten days we're talking about here. I am going to need a schedule, a meal plan, and specific daily goals if I want to get the end of each day not feeling like I'm wasting my youth om feckless meandering. Oh, to be a Nihilist!
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
22 in 2010
So my last post got me on a fiction kick. I'm not really sure what I'm working on here but it's a start of...something, anyway. Right now it's just a playful exploration of what it's like for people who are just out of college (especially liberal arts students) for my particular age group. Those who know me will realize that this is barely fiction but this character isn't actually SUPPOSED to be me.
(untitled) by Emma Sklar
Chapter 1: 22 in 2010
The first thing I did today was read an email regretting to inform me that I had not been selected for the job for which I interviewed last week. The job was the full time receptionist for a medium sized law firm and even though it did not require the Bachelor of Arts degree that I spent the last four years earning the idea of it made me feel fancy and important. I had my outfit picked out for my first day of work, a dictionary of legal terms, and money set aside for a short angular haircut that would make me look stern and professional.
But I didn’t get it.
It must have gone to that middle-aged woman who interviewed after me. She probably had direct experience and a laundry list of professional references. How am I supposed to get a job when there are legitimate adults with kids at home and real world experience running around? The woman who got my job probably has a toothless third grader grinning up from her phone that she probably leaves out on the table during interviews. Should I have a baby so I can do that?
I should really wait until after I’ve had my coffee to check my email.
Obviously I should not have a baby just so I can get a job, or for any reason. I’m 22, after all. Besides which I’m fairly certain that wouldn’t work. And I’d have to get a nanny or something. Even if the baby helps me get a job I’d still need experience so I could get a good enough job to pay the nanny. So it’s decided. I will not be having a baby even if it would get me a job at a fancy law firm where I can wear pencil skirts and pumps like Elaine on Ally McBeal.
Back to the Classifieds. What am I qualified to do? I can write pretty great papers about Phallic symbolism in Renaissance Literature. Maybe I can work at a shop that sells sex toys. I could have very educational chats with the customers about Shakespeare and Marlowe. I guess people might find that to be a bit of a turn-off, though, and I would probably be fired for failing to properly cite my textual references. I did always have a problem with that.
There’s an ad here for a job editing obituaries for a local newspaper. What does one write in a cover letter for a job editing death announcements? “I believe that obituaries are among the most important forms of journalism because they are the last official record of each of our time on Earth…”. That’s awfully depressing. There are no other jobs even remotely related to journalism or publishing though and I bet every recent graduate from my English Department is applying for this job. I might as well send in my resume, but I think I’ll keep my cover letter brief. My writing can get away from me sometimes and I don’t want them to think I’m obsessed with dead people or anything.
I should dye my hair red; a really fiery red with golden highlights. I think maybe the problem is that there are just too many girls who look like me and the interviewers can’t remember who’s who. Blond hair, hazel eyes, average height and build. I’m surprised I don’t get called in for criminal lineups more often as there are so many girls who fit my description. I should also stop wearing high heels to interviews. Then I would be legitimately short instead of average. They’ll have to remember the really tiny girl with the red hair and golden highlights. And maybe I should start going by my middle name, which is Knox after my grandmother’s maiden name. Knox Popper is quite a bit more memorable than Hannah Popper, I think. They might think I’m a man at first but the surprise when they find out I’m not one should jolt their memory diodes or whatever controls that kind of thing. I should have studied Psychology.
I’ve been called in to interview for the position of Obituaries Editor. I suspect it might have had something to do with a small exageration on my resume. I didn’t exactly work for my college newspaper “The Analyst” (or the "Anal List" as it was more commonly known on campus). My friend Lori was one of the editors and she once asked me to write an opinion piece about the local art scene because I was an art history minor. She didn’t end up using it because it was “too aggressive” but I still give myself credit for writing it. So “freelance journalist” might not be the most honest description of my writing career. Anyhow Lori said that she would vouch for me should it come to that.
(My previous blog post "The Day Trip" would go here)
My hair dye kit includes both the base color and highlights. The base color was no problem and it looks pretty close to the red I was picturing but the highights are a little trickier. I’m fairly confident that I can manage it on my own. I’m just not sure how I’m going to deal with the back of my head. I would call someone to come help except I’ve already started and it's a time sensative process. I suppose I could go ask one of the boys who just moved into the apartment next door. I rehearse the conversation in my head to see if it’s not too strange of a thing to ask. I’ve started doing this lately because according to my friends I have a tendency to overstep social boundaries. Excuse me, I rehearse in my head, I’m your new neighbor and I was just wondering if you could look at the back of my head and tell me if the highlights look OK. Maybe that’s not specific enough. I don’t think most boys really understand how highlights work. I try again. I was wondering if you could tell me if these lighter bits in my hair are stripey and uneven or if they look OK to you. It still doesn’t sound right.
(untitled) by Emma Sklar
Chapter 1: 22 in 2010
The first thing I did today was read an email regretting to inform me that I had not been selected for the job for which I interviewed last week. The job was the full time receptionist for a medium sized law firm and even though it did not require the Bachelor of Arts degree that I spent the last four years earning the idea of it made me feel fancy and important. I had my outfit picked out for my first day of work, a dictionary of legal terms, and money set aside for a short angular haircut that would make me look stern and professional.
But I didn’t get it.
It must have gone to that middle-aged woman who interviewed after me. She probably had direct experience and a laundry list of professional references. How am I supposed to get a job when there are legitimate adults with kids at home and real world experience running around? The woman who got my job probably has a toothless third grader grinning up from her phone that she probably leaves out on the table during interviews. Should I have a baby so I can do that?
I should really wait until after I’ve had my coffee to check my email.
Obviously I should not have a baby just so I can get a job, or for any reason. I’m 22, after all. Besides which I’m fairly certain that wouldn’t work. And I’d have to get a nanny or something. Even if the baby helps me get a job I’d still need experience so I could get a good enough job to pay the nanny. So it’s decided. I will not be having a baby even if it would get me a job at a fancy law firm where I can wear pencil skirts and pumps like Elaine on Ally McBeal.
Back to the Classifieds. What am I qualified to do? I can write pretty great papers about Phallic symbolism in Renaissance Literature. Maybe I can work at a shop that sells sex toys. I could have very educational chats with the customers about Shakespeare and Marlowe. I guess people might find that to be a bit of a turn-off, though, and I would probably be fired for failing to properly cite my textual references. I did always have a problem with that.
There’s an ad here for a job editing obituaries for a local newspaper. What does one write in a cover letter for a job editing death announcements? “I believe that obituaries are among the most important forms of journalism because they are the last official record of each of our time on Earth…”. That’s awfully depressing. There are no other jobs even remotely related to journalism or publishing though and I bet every recent graduate from my English Department is applying for this job. I might as well send in my resume, but I think I’ll keep my cover letter brief. My writing can get away from me sometimes and I don’t want them to think I’m obsessed with dead people or anything.
I should dye my hair red; a really fiery red with golden highlights. I think maybe the problem is that there are just too many girls who look like me and the interviewers can’t remember who’s who. Blond hair, hazel eyes, average height and build. I’m surprised I don’t get called in for criminal lineups more often as there are so many girls who fit my description. I should also stop wearing high heels to interviews. Then I would be legitimately short instead of average. They’ll have to remember the really tiny girl with the red hair and golden highlights. And maybe I should start going by my middle name, which is Knox after my grandmother’s maiden name. Knox Popper is quite a bit more memorable than Hannah Popper, I think. They might think I’m a man at first but the surprise when they find out I’m not one should jolt their memory diodes or whatever controls that kind of thing. I should have studied Psychology.
I’ve been called in to interview for the position of Obituaries Editor. I suspect it might have had something to do with a small exageration on my resume. I didn’t exactly work for my college newspaper “The Analyst” (or the "Anal List" as it was more commonly known on campus). My friend Lori was one of the editors and she once asked me to write an opinion piece about the local art scene because I was an art history minor. She didn’t end up using it because it was “too aggressive” but I still give myself credit for writing it. So “freelance journalist” might not be the most honest description of my writing career. Anyhow Lori said that she would vouch for me should it come to that.
(My previous blog post "The Day Trip" would go here)
My hair dye kit includes both the base color and highlights. The base color was no problem and it looks pretty close to the red I was picturing but the highights are a little trickier. I’m fairly confident that I can manage it on my own. I’m just not sure how I’m going to deal with the back of my head. I would call someone to come help except I’ve already started and it's a time sensative process. I suppose I could go ask one of the boys who just moved into the apartment next door. I rehearse the conversation in my head to see if it’s not too strange of a thing to ask. I’ve started doing this lately because according to my friends I have a tendency to overstep social boundaries. Excuse me, I rehearse in my head, I’m your new neighbor and I was just wondering if you could look at the back of my head and tell me if the highlights look OK. Maybe that’s not specific enough. I don’t think most boys really understand how highlights work. I try again. I was wondering if you could tell me if these lighter bits in my hair are stripey and uneven or if they look OK to you. It still doesn’t sound right.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
The Day Trip
I've been experiencing some writers block so I turned to a book called "642 Things To Write About" for an idea. I turned to a page and picked a prompt. I won't tell you what the prompt was but I can assure you that this is a work of fiction.
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Nothing boosts my confidence quite like a new hair color and a fresh pack of socks. It will take a train, a bus, and a mile of walking to get to Target but I really need a change of scenery. My usual errand route is always riddled with distant acquaintances who ask things like "so what are you doing with yourself these days?" and that's not a question that I feel ready to answer right now. For reasons I can't quite place I am comforted by the the distant, soulless glow of Target and it's empty promises of a clean and simple life. And I have a coupon.
I move slowly through the aisles. I don't intend on straying from my short list but I have two hours before I have to be back at the bus stop. I have the last $50 of my graduation money in my wallet and I have decided to allow myself to spend all of it if I find anything worth while. I was hoping I might find a nice fitted blazer for interviews on clearance but all they have is oddly sized jeans and an assortment of sad beige cocktail dresses. I'm trying to curb my disappointment when I turn the corner and see a vaguely familiar frame in profile inspecting bed linens. It is a man of around 40 with a receding hairline and a surprisingly voluminous blond ponytail. He is wearing a faded green polo shirt, frayed Teva sandals with socks and, inexplicably, red bike shorts. I can't place the familiarity so I lower my sunglasses and duck into the next aisle while I try to remember his name. I hear a muffled voice on the other side of the partition. The tone is whiny and what phrases I do catch are passive aggressive. ".....you never made it clear....I guess that's fine....do what you think is best for you..." and so on.
The voice and the image of the man with the pony tail click together in my mind I remember how I know him. He was one of my English teachers in High School. He was always quick to get personally offended when students failed to turn in homework and he was prone to sulking and pouting if his lectures weren't met with enthusiasm. He was a mess and I heard that he quit the year after I graduated. He WOULD ride his bike to Target in sandals to look at duvet covers. His conversation must be heating up because I can now hear most words clearly. "Well if that's what you want I guess I have to accept it....no nevermind that....I'll see you tomorrow." I'm not his biggest fan but I figure I might as well say hello now and get it over with. I round the corner to his aisle trying to look like I'm in a hurry.
There he is amongst the comforter sets. His head is down and as I wheel closer I realize with horror that he is gently weeping. Every conscious part of my brain is screaming "RUN!" but my muscles are too shocked to comply. I stand there, stupidly staring at my former teacher. He must feel my eyes on him because he looks up suddenly. He appears perplexed at first, then somewhat embarrassed, then, again to my horror, gleeful. "Oh my god! It's been years! You have no idea how nice it is to see a friendly face right now. What have you been doing with yourself?"
----------
Nothing boosts my confidence quite like a new hair color and a fresh pack of socks. It will take a train, a bus, and a mile of walking to get to Target but I really need a change of scenery. My usual errand route is always riddled with distant acquaintances who ask things like "so what are you doing with yourself these days?" and that's not a question that I feel ready to answer right now. For reasons I can't quite place I am comforted by the the distant, soulless glow of Target and it's empty promises of a clean and simple life. And I have a coupon.
I move slowly through the aisles. I don't intend on straying from my short list but I have two hours before I have to be back at the bus stop. I have the last $50 of my graduation money in my wallet and I have decided to allow myself to spend all of it if I find anything worth while. I was hoping I might find a nice fitted blazer for interviews on clearance but all they have is oddly sized jeans and an assortment of sad beige cocktail dresses. I'm trying to curb my disappointment when I turn the corner and see a vaguely familiar frame in profile inspecting bed linens. It is a man of around 40 with a receding hairline and a surprisingly voluminous blond ponytail. He is wearing a faded green polo shirt, frayed Teva sandals with socks and, inexplicably, red bike shorts. I can't place the familiarity so I lower my sunglasses and duck into the next aisle while I try to remember his name. I hear a muffled voice on the other side of the partition. The tone is whiny and what phrases I do catch are passive aggressive. ".....you never made it clear....I guess that's fine....do what you think is best for you..." and so on.
The voice and the image of the man with the pony tail click together in my mind I remember how I know him. He was one of my English teachers in High School. He was always quick to get personally offended when students failed to turn in homework and he was prone to sulking and pouting if his lectures weren't met with enthusiasm. He was a mess and I heard that he quit the year after I graduated. He WOULD ride his bike to Target in sandals to look at duvet covers. His conversation must be heating up because I can now hear most words clearly. "Well if that's what you want I guess I have to accept it....no nevermind that....I'll see you tomorrow." I'm not his biggest fan but I figure I might as well say hello now and get it over with. I round the corner to his aisle trying to look like I'm in a hurry.
There he is amongst the comforter sets. His head is down and as I wheel closer I realize with horror that he is gently weeping. Every conscious part of my brain is screaming "RUN!" but my muscles are too shocked to comply. I stand there, stupidly staring at my former teacher. He must feel my eyes on him because he looks up suddenly. He appears perplexed at first, then somewhat embarrassed, then, again to my horror, gleeful. "Oh my god! It's been years! You have no idea how nice it is to see a friendly face right now. What have you been doing with yourself?"
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Things I Know Nothing About: Feminist Issues
I'm kind of a girly girl who wears pretty dresses, curls my hair on occasion, and is usually wearing at least a thin layer of tinted goo somewhere on my face. I was born in the late 80s when women were handling their shit pretty well and wearing a lot of power suits. My version of feminism is a general attitude that basically says "I can do any job a man can do and any man who says otherwise is just trying to save his job". I know that there are alot of very nuanced feminist issues that I don't really understand because I've never had to deal with them first hand so I try not participate in too much feminist discourse. Also I don't want anyone to ask me complicated math questions to prove that women are just as good at men at math. Some women are, but not me. The last thing I would want to do is undermine the cause because I don't know what I'm talking about. That being said, I am going to touch on a few issues in this blog that have been bugging me lately and to hell with my reservations. Ovaries engage!
In Elementary school all of the smartest kids in class were girls. I could run faster than all of the boys and I was the only kid in my class to be on an elite sports team. This doesn't mean much because my school was tiny but these conditions generally delayed my direct understanding of feminist issues. When I got older I knew that independent success was both a goal and an expectation and my gender never really factored into my interpretation of society at large. In High School it became clear that most boys either truly believe or just enjoy saying that they are empirically superior to girls both physically and intellectually. However, I always detected an underlying desperation to assert their masculinity that undermined pretty much anything they had to say on the matter. Furthermore while the boys were going out of their way to put girls down, many of the girls were buying into it and crumbling into hysterics with embarrassing ease and frequency. I believe that at this point in history we should accept that each gender's shortcomings pretty much cancel each other out and what we are left with is the cruel reality that the human brain (of both genders) has evolved past practical application. All of our emotions and everything we "believe" is just a load of crap that gets in the way of the success of our species. Then again, seeing as the success of our species means that the environment we live in will inevitably turn to shit, it is a matter that I have a hard time getting too worked up about. For whatever reason though I've been thinking a lot today about some lady issues and why we can't seem to sort it out and move on already.
I want to begin by talking about Yoko Ono. I recently read the book "Here, There, and Everywhere: My Life Recording The Beatles" by Geoff Emerick, who was The Beatles' sound engineer or an engineering assistant on most of their albums including their very first and very last sessions. This was really a book about Emerick's life and about innovations in recording but there is a lot of incidental insight into The Beatles' dynamic. Rather than going into too much detail I would suggest that anyone who likes The Beatles read this book. What was clear from Emerick's account of The Beatles' later albums is that Yoko Ono's influence on the course of the bands history was a symptom, not a cause. Lennon thought that "Revolution 9" was the direction the band should be headed in. Harrison couldn't get off of India's dick and also harbored resentment towards his more respected band mates as he came into his own as a song writer. McCartney had some serious control issues. All of them, Lennon especially, were on altogether too many drugs a lot of the time. It wasn't exactly a stable environment in which a complicated four way relationship should be expected to thrive. So why does everyone love to blame Yoko for breaking up the Beatles? It's all so...biblical. Four men create something great. Four men fuck it up. Let's blame a woman.
Don't get me wrong, Yoko is pretty much the worst but as bad as she was John Lennon was right there with her holding the sack that she was singing in. I don't know exactly why The Beatles broke up but I'm pretty sure it wasn't Yoko's master plan. John Lennon enabled her insane sense of entitlement but that, I think, is on him. The fact that it is so widely accepted that she did break up The Beatles is indicative of just how eager we all are to blame women for man's mistakes. Women do this to because it has been such a normalized concept through so much of history. Also women can be jealous bitches and we do sometimes jump at the chance to tear another woman down. Both genders are terrible and we're all responsible for everything that sucks in society. Men did have a lot more power for a really long time and still have a disproportionate amount of political clout so I think it's safe to say that men are a little bit more responsible than women. Not to say that women would have done a better job but it is what it is. New topic.
Recently the male dominated federal government has acknowledged that woman are not a special interest group. Although I'm glad we're saying it out loud it's a little upsetting that we need to say it at all. (No disrespect to my parents' generation but I think we are going to get a lot more done when no men who were alive in the 50s or 60s have any say in political issues regarding women.) What I'm hoping is that more people will realize how silly it is that we let a room full of old men decide things that impact womens health. What baffles me is the fact that birth control is approached as a matter of womens health in the first place. Birth control is a widespread social issue. Last time I checked babies can be either gender and everyone benefits if there are less of them. I don't want to go into this too much further because it makes me really mad for reasons that actually don't necessarily have anything to do with feminism and which I have already addressed in my previous post "Things I Know Nothing About:Christianity". I would like to put forth an addendum to any bills which restrict a woman's access to abortions that states that any man who votes in favor of said bill is volunteering for a vasectomy. And a vote for the restriction of birth control is a vote for castration.
The last thing I would like to discuss is to point out that there is a big push right now to keep people from using tanning beds or laying out in the sun because of the accelerating skin cancer rates in young women but then most ads still feature some deeply tanned giraffe lady with no indication that the tan is artificial. Actually I don't really want to discuss that I just think it sucks. This is something I noticed while reading just one issue of Teen Vogue. Don't ask why I was reading it in the first place.
OK I think that's enough. I need to go watch Glee and be mad about autotuning.
If you are interested in a more well rounded and entertaining take on Feminist issues I would suggest that you read Bossy Pants by Tina Fey if you haven't already. She's a smart lady who can actually put her money where her mouth is.
In Elementary school all of the smartest kids in class were girls. I could run faster than all of the boys and I was the only kid in my class to be on an elite sports team. This doesn't mean much because my school was tiny but these conditions generally delayed my direct understanding of feminist issues. When I got older I knew that independent success was both a goal and an expectation and my gender never really factored into my interpretation of society at large. In High School it became clear that most boys either truly believe or just enjoy saying that they are empirically superior to girls both physically and intellectually. However, I always detected an underlying desperation to assert their masculinity that undermined pretty much anything they had to say on the matter. Furthermore while the boys were going out of their way to put girls down, many of the girls were buying into it and crumbling into hysterics with embarrassing ease and frequency. I believe that at this point in history we should accept that each gender's shortcomings pretty much cancel each other out and what we are left with is the cruel reality that the human brain (of both genders) has evolved past practical application. All of our emotions and everything we "believe" is just a load of crap that gets in the way of the success of our species. Then again, seeing as the success of our species means that the environment we live in will inevitably turn to shit, it is a matter that I have a hard time getting too worked up about. For whatever reason though I've been thinking a lot today about some lady issues and why we can't seem to sort it out and move on already.
I want to begin by talking about Yoko Ono. I recently read the book "Here, There, and Everywhere: My Life Recording The Beatles" by Geoff Emerick, who was The Beatles' sound engineer or an engineering assistant on most of their albums including their very first and very last sessions. This was really a book about Emerick's life and about innovations in recording but there is a lot of incidental insight into The Beatles' dynamic. Rather than going into too much detail I would suggest that anyone who likes The Beatles read this book. What was clear from Emerick's account of The Beatles' later albums is that Yoko Ono's influence on the course of the bands history was a symptom, not a cause. Lennon thought that "Revolution 9" was the direction the band should be headed in. Harrison couldn't get off of India's dick and also harbored resentment towards his more respected band mates as he came into his own as a song writer. McCartney had some serious control issues. All of them, Lennon especially, were on altogether too many drugs a lot of the time. It wasn't exactly a stable environment in which a complicated four way relationship should be expected to thrive. So why does everyone love to blame Yoko for breaking up the Beatles? It's all so...biblical. Four men create something great. Four men fuck it up. Let's blame a woman.
Don't get me wrong, Yoko is pretty much the worst but as bad as she was John Lennon was right there with her holding the sack that she was singing in. I don't know exactly why The Beatles broke up but I'm pretty sure it wasn't Yoko's master plan. John Lennon enabled her insane sense of entitlement but that, I think, is on him. The fact that it is so widely accepted that she did break up The Beatles is indicative of just how eager we all are to blame women for man's mistakes. Women do this to because it has been such a normalized concept through so much of history. Also women can be jealous bitches and we do sometimes jump at the chance to tear another woman down. Both genders are terrible and we're all responsible for everything that sucks in society. Men did have a lot more power for a really long time and still have a disproportionate amount of political clout so I think it's safe to say that men are a little bit more responsible than women. Not to say that women would have done a better job but it is what it is. New topic.
Recently the male dominated federal government has acknowledged that woman are not a special interest group. Although I'm glad we're saying it out loud it's a little upsetting that we need to say it at all. (No disrespect to my parents' generation but I think we are going to get a lot more done when no men who were alive in the 50s or 60s have any say in political issues regarding women.) What I'm hoping is that more people will realize how silly it is that we let a room full of old men decide things that impact womens health. What baffles me is the fact that birth control is approached as a matter of womens health in the first place. Birth control is a widespread social issue. Last time I checked babies can be either gender and everyone benefits if there are less of them. I don't want to go into this too much further because it makes me really mad for reasons that actually don't necessarily have anything to do with feminism and which I have already addressed in my previous post "Things I Know Nothing About:Christianity". I would like to put forth an addendum to any bills which restrict a woman's access to abortions that states that any man who votes in favor of said bill is volunteering for a vasectomy. And a vote for the restriction of birth control is a vote for castration.
The last thing I would like to discuss is to point out that there is a big push right now to keep people from using tanning beds or laying out in the sun because of the accelerating skin cancer rates in young women but then most ads still feature some deeply tanned giraffe lady with no indication that the tan is artificial. Actually I don't really want to discuss that I just think it sucks. This is something I noticed while reading just one issue of Teen Vogue. Don't ask why I was reading it in the first place.
OK I think that's enough. I need to go watch Glee and be mad about autotuning.
If you are interested in a more well rounded and entertaining take on Feminist issues I would suggest that you read Bossy Pants by Tina Fey if you haven't already. She's a smart lady who can actually put her money where her mouth is.
Monday, April 16, 2012
A Whole Lot of Nothing
I'm housesitting for about ten days and due to my lack of driving ability (I know I keep promising to explain this but I still don't feel like it) I am a little isolated. I am a solid three miles uphill from town. Last time I walked down there, this happened. <-----------------------------------
It wasn't as painful as it looked. A blood blister formed and broke before I even noticed what was happening. I did have to go buy bandaids so I could make it home and I'm not sure if that sock will ever be the same. That was on Saturday. The reason I walked downtown was to make it to the bank before it closed at 1:00 but I got about 1/2 way down and realized I had forgotten the check so I just went anyway and did other things.
I was going to walk to the bank today but it got really hot and as you may have guessed I am prone to blisters to begin with so I decided against it. I'll go tomorrow. Or not. It doesn't really matter when I go but seeing as I haven't spoken to another person today I should probably make an effort to get off the property. I would go down and see a movie tonight but then I'd have to walk home in the dark and Montpelier VT is exactly the kind of sleepy, unsuspecting town where loners get kidnapped and gutted like deer in some shack in the woods. Actually I think the murder rate is pretty low here but I still don't want to walk three miles in the dark by myself.
So what have I been doing all day? Good question. I'm not really sure how it came to be 6 in the evening. I woke up at 7:30 and fed animals. I ate some multi-grain cheerios with almond milk. That was tasty. I've walked to dog twice. I fed them again at around 5. I lay out in the sun for less than an hour. I applied to a job or two online. The tv has been on but I haven't really been paying attention to it. I've spent a little too much time debating about when I'm going to exercise but not actually doing it. It's not like I'm on a schedule and I'd rather do it when the sun goes down and it cools off. But I might just be making excuses. I should have done it first thing so I don't have a spector of guilt following me around. I could do it right now...and then shower and then make dinner and have some wine and pretend like I've had a hard day that I need to unwind from. It's not like I already drank a grapefruit juice, vodka and champagne cocktail while I was sunbathing. Except actually I did exactly that and it was fucking fantastic.The sun is still out. Maybe I should just do that again....
No, no. I need to earn it.
So I'll go exercise. I'll feel better about things if I exercise. And I'll eat a lot of spinach.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
The Real Book Project: Rocks in My Bed in C
This video did not want to upload in the other post. This is Rocks in My Bed, again, in C this time.
The Real Book Project: Rocks in My Bed
Rocks in My Bed isn't actually in the Real Book. It's an Ellington blues and I like it. I did it in two keys with no chart. I can't seem to keep track of what order the verses go in or how many times I've sung them. This song is not about being so sad that you crap the bed. Well, it might be, but I like to assume that it isn't.
Rocks in My Bed in Bb
Rocks in My Bed in Bb
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Selling Wingdaddles
Here is a little story I wrote based on one of my experiences working this winter. I have changed the name of the product to a nonsense word to A)protect the company and B)highlight the fact that this really could have happened in any service position selling any kind of thing.
Selling Wingdaddles
The
woman in front of me would prefer a Wingdaddle fresh off the wingdaddlry. The
one I served her, although delicious, had been left to cool for 90 seconds and
it just isn't exactly the treat she’d been hoping for. She knows
this because she hired the Wingdaddle Hut to cater an event in the
past and she found she liked the hot ones best. Unfortunately the only way that
she can express this sentiment is by screaming "We paid you people thousands
of dollars to cater our sons birthday party and I KNOW what a fresh Wingdaddle
tastes like!"
I
understand that it is this woman's burden to be tacky and lacking in
social graces. I do not inform her that as a seasonal employee I have no
connection with the catering company or that it isn't our policy to serve
Wingdaddles fresh off the wingdaddlry because they can be hot enough to burn
ones mouth. Factual information would only confuse and upset her so I
proceed with exaggerated kindness and use small, simple words as I would
with an irate child who doesn't yet understand the limits of his
environment. It will please her to think that I am dull-witted.
I
prepare her Wingdaddle while she waits, cross-armed and jaw-jutted, outside the
Wingdaddle Hut window. I choose the most visually pleasing, robust Wingdaddle
and dress it with care. There will be no tip from her today but I want this
Wingdaddle to be so good that it leaves her speechless. Only when she has
receded into the crowd do I privately indulge a fantasy in which she develops a
sudden and severe allergy to the main ingredient of Wingdaddles.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Notes from Central Park
As much as I hate Blogging from my phone, I also don't feel like walking any more at the moment so I figured I might as well jot down some thoughts on the fly. Let me give you a run down of my day thus far.
1- Departed by subway from w96th street and rode down to 14th and 8th ave.
2- went to the bank. Deposited my very last waffle paycheck.
3- Went to Anthropologie @ Chelsea market. I had a gift card from my wonderful boyfriend.
4- walked from Chelsea market to Eataly on 23rd and 5th. It was too big and scary. I left and ate at chipotle instead :(.
5- walked up Broadway to the Manhattan mall on 34th so I could pee and change into my "city flats" as the balls on my feet were starting to feel like raw sores in my boots.
6- took the btrain to 7th and 5somehingth and walked to the park
7- in the park I started following a guy walking three really cute shelties (shetland sheepdogs). I'm not sure what I thought might happen. Would he see me admiring them and offer for me to play with them? Or maybe keep one forever? He had three, afterall. I tried to take a picture without him noticing but it didn't work. Eventually I realized that he was going the wrong direction and I returned to my northwesterly course.
And that's where I am. Somewhere near 90th street near the resevoir. It's around 3 pm and it's really nice out. Here are the pictures I did manage to take. They are mostly of trees.
1- Departed by subway from w96th street and rode down to 14th and 8th ave.
2- went to the bank. Deposited my very last waffle paycheck.
3- Went to Anthropologie @ Chelsea market. I had a gift card from my wonderful boyfriend.
4- walked from Chelsea market to Eataly on 23rd and 5th. It was too big and scary. I left and ate at chipotle instead :(.
5- walked up Broadway to the Manhattan mall on 34th so I could pee and change into my "city flats" as the balls on my feet were starting to feel like raw sores in my boots.
6- took the btrain to 7th and 5somehingth and walked to the park
7- in the park I started following a guy walking three really cute shelties (shetland sheepdogs). I'm not sure what I thought might happen. Would he see me admiring them and offer for me to play with them? Or maybe keep one forever? He had three, afterall. I tried to take a picture without him noticing but it didn't work. Eventually I realized that he was going the wrong direction and I returned to my northwesterly course.
And that's where I am. Somewhere near 90th street near the resevoir. It's around 3 pm and it's really nice out. Here are the pictures I did manage to take. They are mostly of trees.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
The Real Book Project: Come Sunday
Learned this one for a Jazz Vocal Ensemble performance a few years back. Obviously singing about god isn't really in my wheelhouse but an Ellington tune is an Ellington tune. Happy Passover.
This is "Come Sunday"
This is "Come Sunday"
The Real Book Project: Willow Weep For Me
Ok I finally got around to sitting down and recording something. I have abandoned the idea of going off of the required song list for vocal majors (I can't find it) and am instead just doing whatever is in my key and easy enough to play. I learned this song in a lesson 3 years ago but I've never performed it or played it on piano. This take is not without it's problems but I made it all the way through and that's good enough for me. Also it's sideways. I really have no patience for video editing of any kind. This is "Willow Weep For Me"
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