Thursday, June 30, 2005
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Go, Army!
Normally I'm not a huge fan of just unabashed swearing, but in this particular case, let me just say:
FUCK YOU, MIKE.
Gaylen, my former roommate, just started Med. School in Maine last month. She's gotten to know a lot of different people, and in keeping with the 10% rule, has also met some very lovely queers since she arrived. In particular, she has befriended a classmate whose partner also moved here while Hayden, Gaylen's friend, gets her degree. Hayden and her partner originated in North Carolina, and made a particular point to move someplace where the could be out and proud and whatever they wanted wherever they were. North Carolina was a 53,281 square mile closet, and they wanted to get the hell out of there, literally.
So, they trek northward, moving there entire lives 1,015 miles to Portland, hoping that with each longitudinal degree northward they would encounter less homophobia, more inclusion, and maybe, for once in their lives, feel safe enough to walk down the street holding each other's hands. They had a plan to be out, for the first time in their lives, to everyone.
During an exercise last week in one of their classes, the professor instructed people to get into pairs, take histories, and then practice reporting back to the larger group. One of the members of Gaylen's class, Mike, has been a jerk since the beginning. He's a former Army officer and just loves to hear himself talk, interjecting and interupting even the professor with Chem7-this and blood panel-that, even when it isn't relevant or correct. He's an arrogant bastard with little room to hear what anyone else has to say. Gaylen told me one day, when discussing the difference in cultural boundaries that might affect how you care for someone's health, he contributed, "Well, these people, aren't they in our country?! And shouldn't they be concerned with familiarizing themselves with our cultures, instead of us, theirs?!" Yeah, well, you get the picture.
So Hayden's partner reports back to the class what she's said word for word, using her phrases, etc., stating that she was nervous about coming to Maine and New England and that she was nervous about coming out too soon to the rest of the class for fear of being the Big Fat Lesbian on campus. He reported that she feels like being a lesbian is just one part of her life, and while it is an important part, it is not the sum of her being. In general, he did a fair and nice job, and it was well received by the others in the class.
After class, Hayden is going to her car. Enter Mike stage left, in his car, pulling up along side Hayden. The rest goes something like this:
Mike, in an accusatory tone: Hey! Big FAT LESBIAN!!
Hayden, cautiously: Um, yes, Mike?
Mike: Yeah, you know, you and your girlfriend should come over sometime, I might have some questions for you.
Hayden: Yeah, like what?
Mike: Well, I'm wondering if maybe I can show you something, you know, maybe show you a trick or two.
Hayden: I'm not sure what you mean.
Mike: I thought I could, you know, be of service, show you that there might not be something so wrong with a little d!ck.
Hayden, trying to maintain her composure: Yeah, I don't think that's going to happen.
Mike: Yeah, well you let me know. It might be a good idea.
Mike drives off. Hayden tries to keep from barfing.
So, not only was this a sexually harassing act, it was also obscene and grossly homophobic. Hayden is trying to figure out now what to do about, if to speak to anyone about it, and to whom, if she decides to move forward. The kicker of it all is that this jerk off is running for class president. CLASS PRESIDENT.
This incident has made me think and rethink the Don't Ask Don't Tell policy of Mr. Clinton Disappointment of 1996 I need to get re-elected pants. It reminded me of how dangerous it is to instruct people to be ashamed of themselves, to hide parts about themselves that are true and honest and rooted in love. It reminded me of the contradiction between instructing Hayden to keep her mouth shut about her life, and allowing Mike to open his freely. It reminded me of the immense pain of being in the closet, the desperation you feel while trying to claw out, and the anger and shame when someone slams you violently, unwillingly back in. It reminds me that even in the Blue State safe areas, there is no guard against some creep sneaking in. It reminds me that there is so much work left to do, and that remaining steadfast, and out, and proud and active are the only things that may keep that situation from ever happening to anyone again.
FUCK YOU, MIKE.
Gaylen, my former roommate, just started Med. School in Maine last month. She's gotten to know a lot of different people, and in keeping with the 10% rule, has also met some very lovely queers since she arrived. In particular, she has befriended a classmate whose partner also moved here while Hayden, Gaylen's friend, gets her degree. Hayden and her partner originated in North Carolina, and made a particular point to move someplace where the could be out and proud and whatever they wanted wherever they were. North Carolina was a 53,281 square mile closet, and they wanted to get the hell out of there, literally.
So, they trek northward, moving there entire lives 1,015 miles to Portland, hoping that with each longitudinal degree northward they would encounter less homophobia, more inclusion, and maybe, for once in their lives, feel safe enough to walk down the street holding each other's hands. They had a plan to be out, for the first time in their lives, to everyone.
During an exercise last week in one of their classes, the professor instructed people to get into pairs, take histories, and then practice reporting back to the larger group. One of the members of Gaylen's class, Mike, has been a jerk since the beginning. He's a former Army officer and just loves to hear himself talk, interjecting and interupting even the professor with Chem7-this and blood panel-that, even when it isn't relevant or correct. He's an arrogant bastard with little room to hear what anyone else has to say. Gaylen told me one day, when discussing the difference in cultural boundaries that might affect how you care for someone's health, he contributed, "Well, these people, aren't they in our country?! And shouldn't they be concerned with familiarizing themselves with our cultures, instead of us, theirs?!" Yeah, well, you get the picture.
So Hayden's partner reports back to the class what she's said word for word, using her phrases, etc., stating that she was nervous about coming to Maine and New England and that she was nervous about coming out too soon to the rest of the class for fear of being the Big Fat Lesbian on campus. He reported that she feels like being a lesbian is just one part of her life, and while it is an important part, it is not the sum of her being. In general, he did a fair and nice job, and it was well received by the others in the class.
After class, Hayden is going to her car. Enter Mike stage left, in his car, pulling up along side Hayden. The rest goes something like this:
Mike, in an accusatory tone: Hey! Big FAT LESBIAN!!
Hayden, cautiously: Um, yes, Mike?
Mike: Yeah, you know, you and your girlfriend should come over sometime, I might have some questions for you.
Hayden: Yeah, like what?
Mike: Well, I'm wondering if maybe I can show you something, you know, maybe show you a trick or two.
Hayden: I'm not sure what you mean.
Mike: I thought I could, you know, be of service, show you that there might not be something so wrong with a little d!ck.
Hayden, trying to maintain her composure: Yeah, I don't think that's going to happen.
Mike: Yeah, well you let me know. It might be a good idea.
Mike drives off. Hayden tries to keep from barfing.
So, not only was this a sexually harassing act, it was also obscene and grossly homophobic. Hayden is trying to figure out now what to do about, if to speak to anyone about it, and to whom, if she decides to move forward. The kicker of it all is that this jerk off is running for class president. CLASS PRESIDENT.
This incident has made me think and rethink the Don't Ask Don't Tell policy of Mr. Clinton Disappointment of 1996 I need to get re-elected pants. It reminded me of how dangerous it is to instruct people to be ashamed of themselves, to hide parts about themselves that are true and honest and rooted in love. It reminded me of the contradiction between instructing Hayden to keep her mouth shut about her life, and allowing Mike to open his freely. It reminded me of the immense pain of being in the closet, the desperation you feel while trying to claw out, and the anger and shame when someone slams you violently, unwillingly back in. It reminds me that even in the Blue State safe areas, there is no guard against some creep sneaking in. It reminds me that there is so much work left to do, and that remaining steadfast, and out, and proud and active are the only things that may keep that situation from ever happening to anyone again.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Has me crying I'm laughing so hard
From a friend who is coming out to his parents:
"It all started when Val told me that she was a lesbian and had chosen
the gay lifestyle. She handed me some pamphlets and brochures, and
told me that the gay lifestyle would enable me to have mindless, empty
sex, consume lots of drugs, indulge my narcissistic tendencies, and
ensure that I never grow up until I become a jaded 45 year old queen
who lives in a bar and desperately tries to pick up 21 year old
twinkies.
Now, I don't want to grow up or be a father. I don't even want to be
an American anymore. I hate freedom, families, and especially my
flag. I am moving to Cuba."
"It all started when Val told me that she was a lesbian and had chosen
the gay lifestyle. She handed me some pamphlets and brochures, and
told me that the gay lifestyle would enable me to have mindless, empty
sex, consume lots of drugs, indulge my narcissistic tendencies, and
ensure that I never grow up until I become a jaded 45 year old queen
who lives in a bar and desperately tries to pick up 21 year old
twinkies.
Now, I don't want to grow up or be a father. I don't even want to be
an American anymore. I hate freedom, families, and especially my
flag. I am moving to Cuba."
Monday, June 20, 2005
I'm GAY, dammit!!!
I just returned from a weekend away in my old stomping grounds -- Portland, OR. It was a quick and very intense visit, which wasn't really a visit at all; I was there to attend my cousin Uyen's wedding. The wedding was lovely, and the reception was strange, but fine. That's a longer story that I won't get into here. Tara stayed home to visit with her family for her birthday. Well, that and we couldn't afford to buy two overpriced tickets to PDX.
I am in a bit of a tricky spot with my family, because almost everyone knows that I'm gay and that Tara and I are married and if anyone has any problems with it, well, they haven't told me. My Aunt Hon (my favorite aunt) even sent Tara and me a wedding present. When Uyen invited us to the wedding, she addressed the invitation to both of us. My uncle, who just came over from Vietnam last year, knows that Tara and I are together, and when I met him during our connecting flights in Chicago he asked where Tara was before he even said hello to me! EVERYONE KNOWS.
Well, except for the Senior Aunt, known as No. 2. (In Vietnam, the tradition is the first born is number two, because your first was sacrificed to ward off evil spirits.) She and her husband Nepati have no idea.
During the very beautiful wedding ceremony, sorry, the Catholic Wedding Ceremony, the priest lectured on how appreciative he was of the diversity of the marriages represented in the church, that marriage was a sacriment, not to be taken lightly. I don't disagree...it is a serious committment. During Eucharist, he invited any non-Catholics to come up for a special blessing, and paused in between those receiving communion and those who Jesus said are not worthy to receive his body and blood. Jesus was all about judgements and castes. You've heard that, right?
Going into the reception, I was already a little touchy because of the Eucharist thing, and the moment I dreaded came: the bouquet toss.
The fucking BOUQUET TOSS when all of the single gals clamour for the fortune of being the next to be married. And as far as some people in my family are concerned, I'm still single.
No. 2 and Nepati have a son who is married. They have two kids. No. 2, who my mother reports is severely homophobic, has not been apprised of my gay status or of my gay married status. Therefore, her son, daughter-in-law, and husband have also not been apprised of my gayness. I'm not sure what they think the wedding ring is for, maybe for show, but they apparently don't know, and it became strikingly clear this weekend. When it came time for the bouquet toss, I was being proded by my cousin-in-law to go up with all the other straight, single girls so I could catch the bouquet and maybe be so lucky to marry one of the single cowboys there and wouldn't that be so fun and god, I must have just been waiting for that moment!! Well, not quite, so I raised my left hand and showed her my finger, jiggling my engagement and wedding rings from behind my fingers with the thumb of the same hand. She said nothing.
If someone indicated they were married and you had no idea wouldn't you ask a question, or wonder at least what the rings were for?! Well, apprently not! So she left me alone, and I escaped unscathed from the bouquet toss.
Towards the end of the reception, Nepati and I were sitting next to each other and he put his arm around me in a very fatherly way and said, "Do you ever think about your wedding?" Knowing what he meant (my straight, hypethetical wedding as opposed to the actual, real wedding of last year during which I made a committment to my real wife in front of my real family with a real officiant and a real God and a real blessing), I said, "Well, yes." Because that's the truth. I do think about my wedding. All the time!
Needless to say, I was really upset, mostly because the day was a whole series of things that made me feel invalidated, less-than, self-conscious, defensive, sad, and angry: all things that prompted me to come out of the closet in the first place. I don't want to have to negotiate this partial outing anymore. I'm coming out to my cousin and his wife as soon as I'm done blogging this experience. I'm inviting No. 2 and her husband to our reception in October. Someone else, for once, can negotiate this painful and touchy territory. I'm done with it. I don't want the responsibility anymore. In fact, I'm not sure that if I had it, I could even take it anyway.
I am in a bit of a tricky spot with my family, because almost everyone knows that I'm gay and that Tara and I are married and if anyone has any problems with it, well, they haven't told me. My Aunt Hon (my favorite aunt) even sent Tara and me a wedding present. When Uyen invited us to the wedding, she addressed the invitation to both of us. My uncle, who just came over from Vietnam last year, knows that Tara and I are together, and when I met him during our connecting flights in Chicago he asked where Tara was before he even said hello to me! EVERYONE KNOWS.
Well, except for the Senior Aunt, known as No. 2. (In Vietnam, the tradition is the first born is number two, because your first was sacrificed to ward off evil spirits.) She and her husband Nepati have no idea.
During the very beautiful wedding ceremony, sorry, the Catholic Wedding Ceremony, the priest lectured on how appreciative he was of the diversity of the marriages represented in the church, that marriage was a sacriment, not to be taken lightly. I don't disagree...it is a serious committment. During Eucharist, he invited any non-Catholics to come up for a special blessing, and paused in between those receiving communion and those who Jesus said are not worthy to receive his body and blood. Jesus was all about judgements and castes. You've heard that, right?
Going into the reception, I was already a little touchy because of the Eucharist thing, and the moment I dreaded came: the bouquet toss.
The fucking BOUQUET TOSS when all of the single gals clamour for the fortune of being the next to be married. And as far as some people in my family are concerned, I'm still single.
No. 2 and Nepati have a son who is married. They have two kids. No. 2, who my mother reports is severely homophobic, has not been apprised of my gay status or of my gay married status. Therefore, her son, daughter-in-law, and husband have also not been apprised of my gayness. I'm not sure what they think the wedding ring is for, maybe for show, but they apparently don't know, and it became strikingly clear this weekend. When it came time for the bouquet toss, I was being proded by my cousin-in-law to go up with all the other straight, single girls so I could catch the bouquet and maybe be so lucky to marry one of the single cowboys there and wouldn't that be so fun and god, I must have just been waiting for that moment!! Well, not quite, so I raised my left hand and showed her my finger, jiggling my engagement and wedding rings from behind my fingers with the thumb of the same hand. She said nothing.
If someone indicated they were married and you had no idea wouldn't you ask a question, or wonder at least what the rings were for?! Well, apprently not! So she left me alone, and I escaped unscathed from the bouquet toss.
Towards the end of the reception, Nepati and I were sitting next to each other and he put his arm around me in a very fatherly way and said, "Do you ever think about your wedding?" Knowing what he meant (my straight, hypethetical wedding as opposed to the actual, real wedding of last year during which I made a committment to my real wife in front of my real family with a real officiant and a real God and a real blessing), I said, "Well, yes." Because that's the truth. I do think about my wedding. All the time!
Needless to say, I was really upset, mostly because the day was a whole series of things that made me feel invalidated, less-than, self-conscious, defensive, sad, and angry: all things that prompted me to come out of the closet in the first place. I don't want to have to negotiate this partial outing anymore. I'm coming out to my cousin and his wife as soon as I'm done blogging this experience. I'm inviting No. 2 and her husband to our reception in October. Someone else, for once, can negotiate this painful and touchy territory. I'm done with it. I don't want the responsibility anymore. In fact, I'm not sure that if I had it, I could even take it anyway.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
$748
$748. That is how much money I just "paid" the federal government. Now, normally I'm not the kind of person who complains about paying taxes. Sure, I'd love to keep all the money I make, but all the money I make is not mine to keep. There are lots of benefits that I receive just by being an American, and there are many Americans who are just as deserving who benefit from the programs our tax dollars fund. This tax money is money I can afford to let go, and if others need it, who am I to make a claim?
This past year I have been working my butt off. I have taken almost a dozen trips, talked to hundreds of people, met with PhDs, Directors, Captains and Majors in the Army, been on a zillion planes in a zillion cities in a zillion airports. I have worked hard. I have enjoyed my work and I have been compensated with a bonus because of it. I deserved that bonus and the raise I got, but I did not deserve the hit of the federal government taking $748 of my dollars away.
Why, you might ask?
Well, also in the last year I got married. And because I married a woman, I *had* to get married in Massachusetts. Yes, it is where I live, so it was no real hardship, but because it is something only this state allows me to do, my rights and responsibilities associated with being married end when I cross any state line. When either of us visits our families in NY, we are technically not married, and when we go for emergency hospital room visits in Rochester, we are not married. When we go to our favorite beach in Rhode Island, we are not married. When we talk about buying a house, we have to look in Mass. because living anywhere else means we are not married. When we paid our federal income tax this year, we were not married. We did not receive any of the federal benefits of every straight married couple in this country.
So here I am, traveling the country for work, recruiting people to go to school to become social workers with a focus on the Army and social workers to provide services to those coming back from war, and I am not a full citizen. No, I do not belong to the armed services. In fact, they would kick me out if I was. But I spend my days giving something back to this country. I spent time away from my family and home to do this work. It's time this country give me what I deserve, too. And if not, at least give me back my fucking money.
This past year I have been working my butt off. I have taken almost a dozen trips, talked to hundreds of people, met with PhDs, Directors, Captains and Majors in the Army, been on a zillion planes in a zillion cities in a zillion airports. I have worked hard. I have enjoyed my work and I have been compensated with a bonus because of it. I deserved that bonus and the raise I got, but I did not deserve the hit of the federal government taking $748 of my dollars away.
Why, you might ask?
Well, also in the last year I got married. And because I married a woman, I *had* to get married in Massachusetts. Yes, it is where I live, so it was no real hardship, but because it is something only this state allows me to do, my rights and responsibilities associated with being married end when I cross any state line. When either of us visits our families in NY, we are technically not married, and when we go for emergency hospital room visits in Rochester, we are not married. When we go to our favorite beach in Rhode Island, we are not married. When we talk about buying a house, we have to look in Mass. because living anywhere else means we are not married. When we paid our federal income tax this year, we were not married. We did not receive any of the federal benefits of every straight married couple in this country.
So here I am, traveling the country for work, recruiting people to go to school to become social workers with a focus on the Army and social workers to provide services to those coming back from war, and I am not a full citizen. No, I do not belong to the armed services. In fact, they would kick me out if I was. But I spend my days giving something back to this country. I spent time away from my family and home to do this work. It's time this country give me what I deserve, too. And if not, at least give me back my fucking money.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
Fight AIDS
Hi folks-
To my loyal readers. (Smirk. Grin.)
My future baby's daddy, and one of the greatest loves of my life, Chad, will be running in the 28th annual Chicago Marathon in October 2005. He has pledged to raise money to fight AIDS by helping fund important research for a cure and prevention for the AIDS Foundation of Chicago. If you'd like to donate money in support of this fight, please visit:
http://www.aidsmarathon.com/participant.asp?runner=CH-1527&EventCode=CH05
It would mean the world to me, Chad, and millions and millions of others.
Love,
Val
To my loyal readers. (Smirk. Grin.)
My future baby's daddy, and one of the greatest loves of my life, Chad, will be running in the 28th annual Chicago Marathon in October 2005. He has pledged to raise money to fight AIDS by helping fund important research for a cure and prevention for the AIDS Foundation of Chicago. If you'd like to donate money in support of this fight, please visit:
http://www.aidsmarathon.com/participant.asp?runner=CH-1527&EventCode=CH05
It would mean the world to me, Chad, and millions and millions of others.
Love,
Val
Friday, June 03, 2005
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Monday, May 30, 2005
Sister Christian, oh your time has come
2000 in the house!
This past weekend was my five year college reunion, and oh what a reunion it was. Thursday night my friends Emily and Alexis came from Texas and California respectively, and we hung out, stayed up late, drank beer...it was lovely. Friday we went to a couple of Back to Class events, had lunch and dinner with friends and got ready for Saturday, when we had Laurel Parade. It was as I expected: strange, touching, and, as always, very beautiful.
The joy of living in the area is that we aren't trapped on campus in dorm rooms, so Saturday night we came back to our house to have dinner while my classmates drank free carafes of wine and ate salmon. T and I tried to buy a la carte reunion package pieces, but when we went on Saturday to get an extra lunch ticket and two dinner tickets, the Alumni Association told us it would be $242. I blinked and stared blankly for a few minutes at the Association Lady, then asked, "Um, excuse me?" She said, "To bump you up to those packages it would be $242." And to clarify I asked, "For three meals?" And she, in all seriousness says, "Yes, $242." Clearly we declined this tempting offer and walked bitterly out of the Alumni Association building.
Basically, this meant that when we went back to campus to party on Saturday night, T and I had some catching up to do -- catching up to my classmates who had been drinking for four hours already. Those of you who know me well know I don't really drink, and know that when
I do, I don't drink a lot. So I did a few things I've never done before:
1) I purchased alcohol with the intention of consuming it in a public place where consuming alcohol publicly is expressly prohibited.
2) When I got to campus, I leaned into the back seat of my car, opened all the bottles I had just purchased and poured them into a Nalgene. Ewww.
3) Between T and I, we drank two Nalgenes full of beer, and then moved on to the open bar, where, between the hours of 10 pm and 12 am, we consumed over 16 glasses of white wine.
4) I puked my guts out at my beloved college for the first time ever -- including when I was in college and actually had an excuse for such behavior.
Basically, it went like this. T and I drank. Then we drank some more. We drank more, and then when we were done drinking, we drank more. And then we hit that point in drinking when more drinking is the only idea that seems like a good idea at the time. There was Karaoke, including Ooops I did it again, Sister Christian, If you wanna be my lover, and Back off bitch (or, at that state of drunkeness, Back off Beotch). At different points in the night there were fireworks, crying, naughty pictures, dancing, and not enough carbs:alcohol ratio of consumption. By the end of the night we were hanging out outside of the campus center, when Lex, Emily, and Amber were going to head back to the dorm. I closed my eyes and told them I couldn't move, and T stood up and stared at the ground. We told them to move on and as they were walking away, T and I both looked at each other, grabbed at the garbage can outside of the campus center and puked, at the exact same minute, into the garbage. Repeatedly. Oh my god, it felt so good. If you can't drunkenly puke with your wife, who can you puke with?
Normally, I don't believe telling stories about how drunk you got make you look like a winner. In fact, I find them to be kind of embarrassing, and when people tell them I feel like they are sort of bragging. Really, it's about loss of self-control and lack of responsibility, two things which I take very seriously. The first and only other time I got sick from drinking was when I turned 21, and that was enough of a lesson for me to not ever do that again. Well, at least for six years. But this weekend I had a great time, and except for the three hours or so when I really regretted the amount of wine I had, I had a fabulous time.
Most of the time I take myself pretty seriously, and while I have been learning to laugh at myself and relax a little, sometimes it's hard for me to remember to do so. During college I had some of the most fun and important experiences of my life, and I have made lifelong friends because of those experiences. Having Lex and Emily in town helped me remember that losing my shit, and my dinner, once in a while, can be very freeing. And while I may be 27, I can, once in a while, cut loose and drink wine. Hopefully, as I get older, I'll learn how to do that without barfing my brains out, too.
Thank you, girls, for a WONDERFUL weekend. I miss you more than you know.
Babe, you know you're growing up so fast
And momma's worrying that you won't last to say
Let's play
Don't you give it up before your time is due
It's true
It's true
Thursday, May 26, 2005
OH. MY. GOD.
The three craziest things I've ever seen on TV I saw this week.
First, let's discuss the season finale for CSI, directed by Quentin Tarantino. Holy shite. That man likes to bury people alive! Kudos to Nick for portraying what it actually must be like to be buried alive. Pure panic and dillusion. Imagine, for those of you who did not see it, a glass box 4 feet below the surface. In that box there exists the following: you, a pile of glow sticks, and a gun. For HOURS, a light at the end of the glass coffin goes on and off. On. Off. On. Off. Every time the light goes on, the fans that bring in air stop, but your friends who are watching you via the light don't know that, and you don't know they are watching. In fact, they think the light is helping, while really each time the press the button it is slowly suffocating you. Oh, and underneath the box is enough C4 to blow you and your closest friends to bits. And then the Fire Ants came.
Second, let's talk about Rob and Amber Get Married. Oh wait, just kidding. The season finale of Alias was grrreat! The episode itself was fine, most things got resolved, etc...but the final 8 seconds literally made me gasp and scream. I don't want to be a spoiler, but that show really does not disappoint.
And finally, finally I bring you into the manic world of the lethal combination of Oprah Winfrey and Tom Cruise. Normally I can't really stand Oprah and I guess I don't really have any feelings about Tom Cruise (except that age really agrees with him), but this was the most manic interview/interviewee relationship I've ever seen. I think he constructed about four coherent sentences, jumped on the couch at least five times, pounded the floor repeatedly, then acted like a monkey for the rest of the time. All of this culminated in Mr. Cruise going into the greenroom and literally dragging Katie Holmes out to the sound stage while holding her arms in Cops-bad-guy position. She was laughing, but I don't think she thought it was all that funny. Tara and I kept looking at each other like, "What the hell is happening?!!?"
Now if we could just figure out how to get Tom Cruise into that glass coffin scenario, we'd be all set.
First, let's discuss the season finale for CSI, directed by Quentin Tarantino. Holy shite. That man likes to bury people alive! Kudos to Nick for portraying what it actually must be like to be buried alive. Pure panic and dillusion. Imagine, for those of you who did not see it, a glass box 4 feet below the surface. In that box there exists the following: you, a pile of glow sticks, and a gun. For HOURS, a light at the end of the glass coffin goes on and off. On. Off. On. Off. Every time the light goes on, the fans that bring in air stop, but your friends who are watching you via the light don't know that, and you don't know they are watching. In fact, they think the light is helping, while really each time the press the button it is slowly suffocating you. Oh, and underneath the box is enough C4 to blow you and your closest friends to bits. And then the Fire Ants came.
Second, let's talk about Rob and Amber Get Married. Oh wait, just kidding. The season finale of Alias was grrreat! The episode itself was fine, most things got resolved, etc...but the final 8 seconds literally made me gasp and scream. I don't want to be a spoiler, but that show really does not disappoint.
And finally, finally I bring you into the manic world of the lethal combination of Oprah Winfrey and Tom Cruise. Normally I can't really stand Oprah and I guess I don't really have any feelings about Tom Cruise (except that age really agrees with him), but this was the most manic interview/interviewee relationship I've ever seen. I think he constructed about four coherent sentences, jumped on the couch at least five times, pounded the floor repeatedly, then acted like a monkey for the rest of the time. All of this culminated in Mr. Cruise going into the greenroom and literally dragging Katie Holmes out to the sound stage while holding her arms in Cops-bad-guy position. She was laughing, but I don't think she thought it was all that funny. Tara and I kept looking at each other like, "What the hell is happening?!!?"
Now if we could just figure out how to get Tom Cruise into that glass coffin scenario, we'd be all set.
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Weirdo
Normally I'm not one for getting up super early. Yes, there was a period of time when I was doing my student teaching that I just LOVED waking up at 6, seeing the winter sun rise, all the unimaginable colors that came with it, the quiet of the dorm before anyone else was awake. There was an independence that came with that solitude -- a quiet that is hard to find in our noise-polluted world.
At any given moment from my office I can hear: 12 phone lines, two fax machines, people at one of 100 mailboxes, anyone visiting the main office, the photocopier, and West St. traffic outside of my office window. For the past few months I've been coming in a 9 and leaving at 5, and by the time I get here in the morning everything is already running full tilt. Get out of its way or it will run you over. By five most people are gone and it's quiet, but there's nothing renewing about that silence -- no peace, just...aloneness.
This week I've started on my summer schedule, one that brings me in at 8. I usually am at my desk by 8:05, and there are a few murmurs here and there of other early birds, but it is this impossible silence that every year when I switch to this schedule I remember. I remember how much I love easing into my day, with time to boot up, read my emails quietly, turn on my heater, get some water. Sit and think and go purposefully forward.
At any given moment from my office I can hear: 12 phone lines, two fax machines, people at one of 100 mailboxes, anyone visiting the main office, the photocopier, and West St. traffic outside of my office window. For the past few months I've been coming in a 9 and leaving at 5, and by the time I get here in the morning everything is already running full tilt. Get out of its way or it will run you over. By five most people are gone and it's quiet, but there's nothing renewing about that silence -- no peace, just...aloneness.
This week I've started on my summer schedule, one that brings me in at 8. I usually am at my desk by 8:05, and there are a few murmurs here and there of other early birds, but it is this impossible silence that every year when I switch to this schedule I remember. I remember how much I love easing into my day, with time to boot up, read my emails quietly, turn on my heater, get some water. Sit and think and go purposefully forward.
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