I should begin with a little background and me and Southern California, just to be fair. In my teen years, SoCal was the shit. It was the hair-raising, heavy metal '80s. Motley Crue was the most hardcore band around, my bangs made me three inches taller, and the coolest place in the known universe was the Sunset Strip in Los Angeles. I would spend hours with my friends watching Headbanger's Ball on Saturday night (back in the day when MTV didn't suck and played videos) dreaming of the day when we would rent an apartment in L.A. and spend our nights cruising the Strip.
As I approached age 18, I cooled on SoCal and turned my love to a new place, my own Pacific Northwest neighbor, Seattle. I entered college, found indie rock, began my career penning entertainment articles for some of the most alternative zines during the height of grunge, and any thoughts (or love) I had for relocating to Southern California went straight into the crapper.
I spent a year flying back and forth to L.A. while working for PolyGram, and hated being there. People were fake, I heard tale after tale of friends stabbing each other in the back to climb the corporate music business ladder, and my home in Seattle was much more inviting. Grunge was dead, but the community was still alive, well, and filled with pretentious music snobs who knew far more than the corporate hacks down in sunny California.
Even as I left the music industry and settled into a normal life, the thought of leaving my beloved Seattle for Southern California seemed like move I never wanted to make. Then I had my daughter. I knew, the moment we all came back from Rachael's first big family Hanukkah that I shouldn't rule out Southern California.
I'm here now, and I can't say I hate it. It has been an adjustment, but I really don't miss Seattle as much as I thought I would. I have figured out a list of loves and hates about my new residence.
Loves:
*The weather - Sunny almost all the time, which is damn cool. I know it's not this beautiful all the time, but the fact that I can come out of the house every morning and not see rain and gloom is the best.
*Friendly people - Californians are friendlier, straight up. Most Seattle natives are socially retarded, and I'm not the only one who will verify that, most of the major newspapers in Seattle have written articles about how people there are stand-offish and introverted. They call it the "Microsoft personality." People here are friendly.
*Traffic - No, I'm not smoking crack, traffic is actually better in Southern California. I have double the miles in my morning commute than I had in Seattle, and I do it in half the time. Here there are large volumes of people in cars going the same way. In Seattle, there are fewer cars, but the dumbasses planning the roads don't make enough lanes to move traffic through. The major I-5 has to merge with another major interstate, the 405, and they filter traffic down to one lane. Dumbasses!
Hates:
*Housing Prices - Holy crap! I'm going to pay an arm and a leg for a box with no yard on the sketchy side of town. The same money you pay for a large, new home, with a fantastic, huge yard in Seattle, you can get a 1,500 sq. ft. townhouse with a little courtyard area that you could spit across in an area of town that you'd better think twice about springing for an alarm system. This reality check has forced us to lower our standards a bit.
*Barbie People - Everyone here spends way too much time, energy, and money focusing on being perfect. From pole dancing exercise classes to advertisements for deals on plastic surgery, looks are what's important. If you aren't wearing the latest and hottest shoes, you might as well put a bullet in your head, and if you have wrinkles, don't plan on keeping them if you don't want to continue hearing pithy whispers behind your back.
*Displacement of the Moral Compass - I'm a fairly liberal, open-minded lady. Whatever sick, twisted thing you're into for shits and giggles is okay with me, but in California they take it to an extreme. Case in point, the woman who got all of these Hollywood celebrities into pole dancing for exercise was featured in an article along with her seven year old daughter. She was smiling and sitting against the pole, as her little girl was hanging upside-down on the pole with her legs wrapped around it. What the fuck!
I'm sure I'll come up with more loves and hates, but this will do for now. Until then, I'll enjoy the sun, and try to find a radio station that is better than mediocre.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Just When I Thought It Was Safe to Be Content
I have developed a rather nasty habit in life. Whenever I feel like calm might enter my world, I get a little twinge in the back of my head. The twinge is a slight bit of doubt that at any moment everything could go to shit, and my calm will evaporate in an instant. I can usually ignore the twinge and chock it up to neurosis, then I have a day like today, and in an instant my calm evaporated.
I started what I thought was an amazing job just a little under two weeks ago. I was hired to a management level position with a company that produces auctions for non-profits. Since this is the work I've been doing for the past 5 years, I was psyched. It was right up my alley, the company was filled with people my age with similar family situations, the owners of the company seemed like they really were into treating their employees well, and all was right with the world.
They asked me to start right in the thick of their busiest time of the year. In my first week, I put in 60 hours over 6 days. Nothing out of the ordinary for this seasoned events person, it was my world, and I was happy to jump in with both feet. The bad thing was that I had barely left my other job, and with the move, I was one tired lady.
This week was a little bit lighter, but still has me booked to the tune of 50 hours. 'No big deal' I thought, because there is always a learning curve, and if I'm going to be producing events I need to see how this company does their events. The downside is that I'm exhausted, and I haven't seen a lot of Jeff nor Rachael.
I left a little early yesterday to go look at a townhouse, after making sure all of the events were current. My twinge began screaming this morning when I was called into the boss' office and told that the office hours were 8:30 AM to 6:00 PM, no exceptions. Originally they told me that they gave comp time for extra hours worked. I thought it might be hour for hour, or at worst 30 minutes per hour worked. I was told that for every three events I get one day off. In other words, I could do three Saturday events that stretch into 16-hour work days, and get one measly day off.
I spent the rest of today feeling like I wanted to cry. Years ago I worked for a concert promoter that ran me into the ground. I promised myself after that experience that I would never sacrifice myself for a job, and now that I have a child I really don't feel like giving my life to someone for a mediocre salary.
When I'm at work, I'm a complete superfreak. I outwork everyone around me, and catch on to new things quickly. For fuck's sake I taught myself PhotoShop and In Design! I'm willing to work when there is something to do, but when there isn't I'm not going to warm a seat and stare at a computer screen. I'm not a clockwatcher and I don't work hourly, that's why I'm a manager as opposed to an assistant or a coordinator.
Tomorrow I'm taking the bull by the horns, going into the boss' office and telling him that if I can't take 30 minutes in the morning to drop my kid off to catch the bus to daycamp, even though I will be working until midnight on a weekend, then I'm not the gal for them.
I usually try to tell myself that everything happens for a reason, but I feel like someone punched me in the face. Things will turn out the way they turn out, but unfortunately this time, the twinge was right.
I started what I thought was an amazing job just a little under two weeks ago. I was hired to a management level position with a company that produces auctions for non-profits. Since this is the work I've been doing for the past 5 years, I was psyched. It was right up my alley, the company was filled with people my age with similar family situations, the owners of the company seemed like they really were into treating their employees well, and all was right with the world.
They asked me to start right in the thick of their busiest time of the year. In my first week, I put in 60 hours over 6 days. Nothing out of the ordinary for this seasoned events person, it was my world, and I was happy to jump in with both feet. The bad thing was that I had barely left my other job, and with the move, I was one tired lady.
This week was a little bit lighter, but still has me booked to the tune of 50 hours. 'No big deal' I thought, because there is always a learning curve, and if I'm going to be producing events I need to see how this company does their events. The downside is that I'm exhausted, and I haven't seen a lot of Jeff nor Rachael.
I left a little early yesterday to go look at a townhouse, after making sure all of the events were current. My twinge began screaming this morning when I was called into the boss' office and told that the office hours were 8:30 AM to 6:00 PM, no exceptions. Originally they told me that they gave comp time for extra hours worked. I thought it might be hour for hour, or at worst 30 minutes per hour worked. I was told that for every three events I get one day off. In other words, I could do three Saturday events that stretch into 16-hour work days, and get one measly day off.
I spent the rest of today feeling like I wanted to cry. Years ago I worked for a concert promoter that ran me into the ground. I promised myself after that experience that I would never sacrifice myself for a job, and now that I have a child I really don't feel like giving my life to someone for a mediocre salary.
When I'm at work, I'm a complete superfreak. I outwork everyone around me, and catch on to new things quickly. For fuck's sake I taught myself PhotoShop and In Design! I'm willing to work when there is something to do, but when there isn't I'm not going to warm a seat and stare at a computer screen. I'm not a clockwatcher and I don't work hourly, that's why I'm a manager as opposed to an assistant or a coordinator.
Tomorrow I'm taking the bull by the horns, going into the boss' office and telling him that if I can't take 30 minutes in the morning to drop my kid off to catch the bus to daycamp, even though I will be working until midnight on a weekend, then I'm not the gal for them.
I usually try to tell myself that everything happens for a reason, but I feel like someone punched me in the face. Things will turn out the way they turn out, but unfortunately this time, the twinge was right.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Weekly Recap 6/10-16: Mainstream Media Mistakes & California Dreamin'
Headline News Recap
I think I might have heard something about Paris Hilton and jail, but I’m not quite sure. How sick, sad, and wrong is it when the country is at war, the poverty level is on the rise at a pace that will rival the Great Depression, people are losing their homes left and right, and the only thing I continue to hear about on the news is this spoiled bitch! Murrow is rolling over in his grave. Once upon a time, I took journalism classes. I read all of the books and heady theory about this profession. I wrote scholarly papers about working in this profession, and now I am soooo glad I didn’t pursue a career in this field. If there are still journalists with integrity (aside from Anderson Cooper), they should be focusing more on a massive demonstration/walk out against their corporate owners who keep assigning them to cover this crap, and less on whether or not a bleach blonde heiress will have to do her measly 23 days in jail. Journalists of the U.S. unite now, save yourselves and your profession while you still can, and walk out! You can broadcast at will, with honesty for once, on YouTube!
Convicted scumbag Scooter Libby is due to report to prison to serve his 30-month jail sentence for his role in outing CIA Agent Valerie Plame Wilson. There are already rumors that Resident Bush will grant Libby a pardon, since he cuts a fair amount of slack to all of the Regime lackies, although the White House has kept mum about the issue. Funny the word ‘mum’ should come up since that mumming sound is actually the photocopier working overtime to print all of the pardoning paperwork that Bushie will need in about 6 months when most of his other former staff and advisors are sent to join Libby in the poky.
A watchdog group that tracks the Pentagon’s spending discovered $7.5 million allocated to build a “gay bomb”. If developed and implemented, this gay bomb, upon impact would have filled the air with a gas causing enemy troops to want to have sex with each other. Under their same old, “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy, The Pentagon denies ever discussing or pursuing the idea, which is just so bitchy and gay.
America’s wealthy keep getting wealthier, and are now pursuing new ways to spend it. Sales of luxury goods in the U.S. (i.e. $10,000 handbags, $70,000 pen sets, yes, I’m not kidding they make a pen that retails at $70,000, $15,000 neckties, etc.) have reached into the double digits, while those in the disappearing middle class can barely afford a pair of jeans at Wal-Mart. The American worker’s income increased a measly 4.6 percent in 2006, while those making over $350,000 enjoyed double-digit increases. Keep going uber-rich people, you are obviously too busy shopping to read a history book, so I hope on one of your spending sprees you stock up on cake, because you’re going to need it.
In Local News
We are now officially Californians, which means I do have to get off my butt and change the info on my profile eventually. We landed in Los Angeles, and right off the plane I saw Lenny Kravitz. Then we went to a deli in Marina del Rey and I saw Jennifer Lopez. Too bad I don’t give a fuck about celebrities or I could have enjoyed the spottings as much as my brother-in-law did. Aside from living near LaLaLand, it is nice to wake up to see the sun every morning, and since I’m Miss Chilly Pants, I love the warm weather. However, I’m still not quite used to having a Governor Schwarzenegger yet, and I don’t know if I ever will be.
We still haven’t sold our house. Our do-nothing agent keeps blaming the market, but four other houses in our neighborhood have sold. She’s got until next Friday at 5:00 PM to hand us over a decent offer or we are canning her ass.
Worthless Entertainment News
Shar Jackson, the pregnant girlfriend Kevin Federline dumped to be with Britney Spears, is pregnant with yet another Federline offspring. This is all so Jerry Springer. When I heard this story I was actually secretly hoping that Shar and Kevin conspired all along to rid Britney of money, not that I would wish that fate even on an idiot like Britney, but it would give me some hope in humanity that there was not a woman in this world with such low self-esteem and bad judgment that she would lower herself to being dumped, while pregnant, then take back the very man who left her, especially since that man is Kevin Federline. Either scenario aside, this is all so pathetic.
I would comment on the last episode of “The Sopranos,” but I haven’t seen it yet. My in-laws don’t have HBO, so my brother-in-law taped it for me. I’ve heard some who hated it, some who loved it, and others who thought it was so-so. However, if anyone spoils the ending for me, I’m warning you now, I’ll verbally abuse you.
Asshole of the Week(s)
The Mainstream Media – Okay, this is a totally lazy thing to do, two Weekly Recaps in a row, but I moved and started a new job within 48 hours, and I’m fucking tired. Besides, the Mainstream Media has really earned it this week. For ignoring important news, and reporting on your own media creation, Paris Hilton, because you are the only ones who give a rat’s ass about this person, Mainstream Media, you are the Assholes of the Week.
I think I might have heard something about Paris Hilton and jail, but I’m not quite sure. How sick, sad, and wrong is it when the country is at war, the poverty level is on the rise at a pace that will rival the Great Depression, people are losing their homes left and right, and the only thing I continue to hear about on the news is this spoiled bitch! Murrow is rolling over in his grave. Once upon a time, I took journalism classes. I read all of the books and heady theory about this profession. I wrote scholarly papers about working in this profession, and now I am soooo glad I didn’t pursue a career in this field. If there are still journalists with integrity (aside from Anderson Cooper), they should be focusing more on a massive demonstration/walk out against their corporate owners who keep assigning them to cover this crap, and less on whether or not a bleach blonde heiress will have to do her measly 23 days in jail. Journalists of the U.S. unite now, save yourselves and your profession while you still can, and walk out! You can broadcast at will, with honesty for once, on YouTube!
Convicted scumbag Scooter Libby is due to report to prison to serve his 30-month jail sentence for his role in outing CIA Agent Valerie Plame Wilson. There are already rumors that Resident Bush will grant Libby a pardon, since he cuts a fair amount of slack to all of the Regime lackies, although the White House has kept mum about the issue. Funny the word ‘mum’ should come up since that mumming sound is actually the photocopier working overtime to print all of the pardoning paperwork that Bushie will need in about 6 months when most of his other former staff and advisors are sent to join Libby in the poky.
A watchdog group that tracks the Pentagon’s spending discovered $7.5 million allocated to build a “gay bomb”. If developed and implemented, this gay bomb, upon impact would have filled the air with a gas causing enemy troops to want to have sex with each other. Under their same old, “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy, The Pentagon denies ever discussing or pursuing the idea, which is just so bitchy and gay.
America’s wealthy keep getting wealthier, and are now pursuing new ways to spend it. Sales of luxury goods in the U.S. (i.e. $10,000 handbags, $70,000 pen sets, yes, I’m not kidding they make a pen that retails at $70,000, $15,000 neckties, etc.) have reached into the double digits, while those in the disappearing middle class can barely afford a pair of jeans at Wal-Mart. The American worker’s income increased a measly 4.6 percent in 2006, while those making over $350,000 enjoyed double-digit increases. Keep going uber-rich people, you are obviously too busy shopping to read a history book, so I hope on one of your spending sprees you stock up on cake, because you’re going to need it.
In Local News
We are now officially Californians, which means I do have to get off my butt and change the info on my profile eventually. We landed in Los Angeles, and right off the plane I saw Lenny Kravitz. Then we went to a deli in Marina del Rey and I saw Jennifer Lopez. Too bad I don’t give a fuck about celebrities or I could have enjoyed the spottings as much as my brother-in-law did. Aside from living near LaLaLand, it is nice to wake up to see the sun every morning, and since I’m Miss Chilly Pants, I love the warm weather. However, I’m still not quite used to having a Governor Schwarzenegger yet, and I don’t know if I ever will be.
We still haven’t sold our house. Our do-nothing agent keeps blaming the market, but four other houses in our neighborhood have sold. She’s got until next Friday at 5:00 PM to hand us over a decent offer or we are canning her ass.
Worthless Entertainment News
Shar Jackson, the pregnant girlfriend Kevin Federline dumped to be with Britney Spears, is pregnant with yet another Federline offspring. This is all so Jerry Springer. When I heard this story I was actually secretly hoping that Shar and Kevin conspired all along to rid Britney of money, not that I would wish that fate even on an idiot like Britney, but it would give me some hope in humanity that there was not a woman in this world with such low self-esteem and bad judgment that she would lower herself to being dumped, while pregnant, then take back the very man who left her, especially since that man is Kevin Federline. Either scenario aside, this is all so pathetic.
I would comment on the last episode of “The Sopranos,” but I haven’t seen it yet. My in-laws don’t have HBO, so my brother-in-law taped it for me. I’ve heard some who hated it, some who loved it, and others who thought it was so-so. However, if anyone spoils the ending for me, I’m warning you now, I’ll verbally abuse you.
Asshole of the Week(s)
The Mainstream Media – Okay, this is a totally lazy thing to do, two Weekly Recaps in a row, but I moved and started a new job within 48 hours, and I’m fucking tired. Besides, the Mainstream Media has really earned it this week. For ignoring important news, and reporting on your own media creation, Paris Hilton, because you are the only ones who give a rat’s ass about this person, Mainstream Media, you are the Assholes of the Week.
Weekly Recap 6/10-16: Mainstream Media Mistakes & California Dreamin'
Headline News Recap
I think I might have heard something about Paris Hilton and jail, but I’m not quite sure. How sick, sad, and wrong is it when the country is at war, the poverty level is on the rise at a pace that will rival the Great Depression, people are losing their homes left and right, and the only thing I continue to hear about on the news is this spoiled bitch! Murrow is rolling over in his grave. Once upon a time, I took journalism classes. I read all of the books and heady theory about this profession. I wrote scholarly papers about working in this profession, and now I am soooo glad I didn’t pursue a career in this field. If there are still journalists with integrity (aside from Anderson Cooper), they should be focusing more on a massive demonstration/walk out against their corporate owners who keep assigning them to cover this crap, and less on whether or not a bleach blonde heiress will have to do her measly 23 days in jail. Journalists of the U.S. unite now, save yourselves and your profession while you still can, and walk out! You can broadcast at will, with honesty for once, on YouTube!
Convicted scumbag Scooter Libby is due to report to prison to serve his 30-month jail sentence for his role in outing CIA Agent Valerie Plame Wilson. There are already rumors that Resident Bush will grant Libby a pardon, since he cuts a fair amount of slack to all of the Regime lackies, although the White House has kept mum about the issue. Funny the word ‘mum’ should come up since that mumming sound is actually the photocopier working overtime to print all of the pardoning paperwork that Bushie will need in about 6 months when most of his other former staff and advisors are sent to join Libby in the poky.
A watchdog group that tracks the Pentagon’s spending discovered $7.5 million allocated to build a “gay bomb”. If developed and implemented, this gay bomb, upon impact would have filled the air with a gas causing enemy troops to want to have sex with each other. Under their same old, “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy, The Pentagon denies ever discussing or pursuing the idea, which is just so bitchy and gay.
America’s wealthy keep getting wealthier, and are now pursuing new ways to spend it. Sales of luxury goods in the U.S. (i.e. $10,000 handbags, $70,000 pen sets, yes, I’m not kidding they make a pen that retails at $70,000, $15,000 neckties, etc.) have reached into the double digits, while those in the disappearing middle class can barely afford a pair of jeans at Wal-Mart. The American worker’s income increased a measly 4.6 percent in 2006, while those making over $350,000 enjoyed double-digit increases. Keep going uber-rich people, you are obviously too busy shopping to read a history book, so I hope on one of your spending sprees you stock up on cake, because you’re going to need it.
In Local News
We are now officially Californians, which means I do have to get off my butt and change the info on my profile eventually. We landed in Los Angeles, and right off the plane I saw Lenny Kravitz. Then we went to a deli in Marina del Rey and I saw Jennifer Lopez. Too bad I don’t give a fuck about celebrities or I could have enjoyed the spottings as much as my brother-in-law did. Aside from living near LaLaLand, it is nice to wake up to see the sun every morning, and since I’m Miss Chilly Pants, I love the warm weather. However, I’m still not quite used to having a Governor Schwarzenegger yet, and I don’t know if I ever will be.
We still haven’t sold our house. Our do-nothing agent keeps blaming the market, but four other houses in our neighborhood have sold. She’s got until next Friday at 5:00 PM to hand us over a decent offer or we are canning her ass.
Worthless Entertainment News
Shar Jackson, the pregnant girlfriend Kevin Federline dumped to be with Britney Spears, is pregnant with yet another Federline offspring. This is all so Jerry Springer. When I heard this story I was actually secretly hoping that Shar and Kevin conspired all along to rid Britney of money, not that I would wish that fate even on an idiot like Britney, but it would give me some hope in humanity that there was not a woman in this world with such low self-esteem and bad judgment that she would lower herself to being dumped, while pregnant, then take back the very man who left her, especially since that man is Kevin Federline. Either scenario aside, this is all so pathetic.
I would comment on the last episode of “The Sopranos,” but I haven’t seen it yet. My in-laws don’t have HBO, so my brother-in-law taped it for me. I’ve heard some who hated it, some who loved it, and others who thought it was so-so. However, if anyone spoils the ending for me, I’m warning you now, I’ll verbally abuse you.
Asshole of the Week(s)
The Mainstream Media – Okay, this is a totally lazy thing to do, two Weekly Recaps in a row, but I moved and started a new job within 48 hours, and I’m fucking tired. Besides, the Mainstream Media has really earned it this week. For ignoring important news, and reporting on your own media creation, Paris Hilton, because you are the only ones who give a rat’s ass about this person, Mainstream Media, you are the Assholes of the Week.
I think I might have heard something about Paris Hilton and jail, but I’m not quite sure. How sick, sad, and wrong is it when the country is at war, the poverty level is on the rise at a pace that will rival the Great Depression, people are losing their homes left and right, and the only thing I continue to hear about on the news is this spoiled bitch! Murrow is rolling over in his grave. Once upon a time, I took journalism classes. I read all of the books and heady theory about this profession. I wrote scholarly papers about working in this profession, and now I am soooo glad I didn’t pursue a career in this field. If there are still journalists with integrity (aside from Anderson Cooper), they should be focusing more on a massive demonstration/walk out against their corporate owners who keep assigning them to cover this crap, and less on whether or not a bleach blonde heiress will have to do her measly 23 days in jail. Journalists of the U.S. unite now, save yourselves and your profession while you still can, and walk out! You can broadcast at will, with honesty for once, on YouTube!
Convicted scumbag Scooter Libby is due to report to prison to serve his 30-month jail sentence for his role in outing CIA Agent Valerie Plame Wilson. There are already rumors that Resident Bush will grant Libby a pardon, since he cuts a fair amount of slack to all of the Regime lackies, although the White House has kept mum about the issue. Funny the word ‘mum’ should come up since that mumming sound is actually the photocopier working overtime to print all of the pardoning paperwork that Bushie will need in about 6 months when most of his other former staff and advisors are sent to join Libby in the poky.
A watchdog group that tracks the Pentagon’s spending discovered $7.5 million allocated to build a “gay bomb”. If developed and implemented, this gay bomb, upon impact would have filled the air with a gas causing enemy troops to want to have sex with each other. Under their same old, “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy, The Pentagon denies ever discussing or pursuing the idea, which is just so bitchy and gay.
America’s wealthy keep getting wealthier, and are now pursuing new ways to spend it. Sales of luxury goods in the U.S. (i.e. $10,000 handbags, $70,000 pen sets, yes, I’m not kidding they make a pen that retails at $70,000, $15,000 neckties, etc.) have reached into the double digits, while those in the disappearing middle class can barely afford a pair of jeans at Wal-Mart. The American worker’s income increased a measly 4.6 percent in 2006, while those making over $350,000 enjoyed double-digit increases. Keep going uber-rich people, you are obviously too busy shopping to read a history book, so I hope on one of your spending sprees you stock up on cake, because you’re going to need it.
In Local News
We are now officially Californians, which means I do have to get off my butt and change the info on my profile eventually. We landed in Los Angeles, and right off the plane I saw Lenny Kravitz. Then we went to a deli in Marina del Rey and I saw Jennifer Lopez. Too bad I don’t give a fuck about celebrities or I could have enjoyed the spottings as much as my brother-in-law did. Aside from living near LaLaLand, it is nice to wake up to see the sun every morning, and since I’m Miss Chilly Pants, I love the warm weather. However, I’m still not quite used to having a Governor Schwarzenegger yet, and I don’t know if I ever will be.
We still haven’t sold our house. Our do-nothing agent keeps blaming the market, but four other houses in our neighborhood have sold. She’s got until next Friday at 5:00 PM to hand us over a decent offer or we are canning her ass.
Worthless Entertainment News
Shar Jackson, the pregnant girlfriend Kevin Federline dumped to be with Britney Spears, is pregnant with yet another Federline offspring. This is all so Jerry Springer. When I heard this story I was actually secretly hoping that Shar and Kevin conspired all along to rid Britney of money, not that I would wish that fate even on an idiot like Britney, but it would give me some hope in humanity that there was not a woman in this world with such low self-esteem and bad judgment that she would lower herself to being dumped, while pregnant, then take back the very man who left her, especially since that man is Kevin Federline. Either scenario aside, this is all so pathetic.
I would comment on the last episode of “The Sopranos,” but I haven’t seen it yet. My in-laws don’t have HBO, so my brother-in-law taped it for me. I’ve heard some who hated it, some who loved it, and others who thought it was so-so. However, if anyone spoils the ending for me, I’m warning you now, I’ll verbally abuse you.
Asshole of the Week(s)
The Mainstream Media – Okay, this is a totally lazy thing to do, two Weekly Recaps in a row, but I moved and started a new job within 48 hours, and I’m fucking tired. Besides, the Mainstream Media has really earned it this week. For ignoring important news, and reporting on your own media creation, Paris Hilton, because you are the only ones who give a rat’s ass about this person, Mainstream Media, you are the Assholes of the Week.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Leaving Suburbia
I thought when we bought the perfect house in the perfect neighborhood that I had discovered the key to happiness. This is the reason why I entered this weird world of Suburbia in the first place. Despite my years of media and cultural studies I bought into the idea of the American Dream.
You buy the perfect house in the perfect neighborhood and you have an instant community of perfect friends who will assist you in living the perfect life. I'm almost ashamed to admit that I actually believed this, but two years later, I know where it came from. I was raised by a mother who told my sister and I that being strong, progressive women was important, but she really didn't mean it, because at the same time she touted the American Dream. Our lives would be perfect if we had husbands who could take care of us and babies to keep us occupied. Sure a career would be good for a while, but trading in a security badge for maternity clothes was the path we would have to choose in order to be happy. I grew up hearing this, and rejecting it with every fiber of my being.
I wasn't going to be a mother or a wife or a housewife who lived in Suburbia, so a few months after the excitement of moving into my Suburbia residence wore off, I spiraled into a deep depression wondering if I had chosen Suburbia, or if I was living out a dream that had been pounded into my head by a woman I despised. My worst fear was that I had become the very thing I never wanted to be. I also discovered that the facade of the Suburbia community was just smoke and mirrors. In this perfect neighborhood everyone would smile at you and say "hello", but no one really wanted to know you.
Clarity came slowly through a few therapy sessions, a new hobby for blogging, and heading back into the working world. I began to realize that I chose to marry a man who wanted a family, as did I, and although I loved my dwelling, the perfect neighborhood wasn't for me. Community is where people know you, and want to know you, not where you pay homeowners' dues and hope someone gives a rat's ass about you. It took me two long years to realize this.
As crazy and hypocritical as my mother was, she always tried to tell me that home was where your family and friends were, not the structure you pay property taxes on. Although I will miss my beautiful dwelling, I'm leaving Suburbia along all of the smoke and mirrors of the American Dream. Community and happiness isn't about what you have, it's about who you're with, so this past weekend, I boarded a plane with my young daughter in tow, and headed South to California. My house won't be as big, but I'll be able to watch my nephew in his school play. My new neighborhood may not be suitable to grace the front of a postcard, but I'll be able to share meals with my sister-in-law, and my daughter will have her cousins to grow up with.
However, never fear dear readers, I will never abandon my writing. Besides, I'm living in LaLa Land now, and life here can be like living on a different planet. I am also married to Mr. Suburbia, so I will likely end up in a similar place, but this time, I'm keeping my eyes open for fellow punk-minded mamas, because there has to be others like me actively and proudly rejecting the American Dream.
You buy the perfect house in the perfect neighborhood and you have an instant community of perfect friends who will assist you in living the perfect life. I'm almost ashamed to admit that I actually believed this, but two years later, I know where it came from. I was raised by a mother who told my sister and I that being strong, progressive women was important, but she really didn't mean it, because at the same time she touted the American Dream. Our lives would be perfect if we had husbands who could take care of us and babies to keep us occupied. Sure a career would be good for a while, but trading in a security badge for maternity clothes was the path we would have to choose in order to be happy. I grew up hearing this, and rejecting it with every fiber of my being.
I wasn't going to be a mother or a wife or a housewife who lived in Suburbia, so a few months after the excitement of moving into my Suburbia residence wore off, I spiraled into a deep depression wondering if I had chosen Suburbia, or if I was living out a dream that had been pounded into my head by a woman I despised. My worst fear was that I had become the very thing I never wanted to be. I also discovered that the facade of the Suburbia community was just smoke and mirrors. In this perfect neighborhood everyone would smile at you and say "hello", but no one really wanted to know you.
Clarity came slowly through a few therapy sessions, a new hobby for blogging, and heading back into the working world. I began to realize that I chose to marry a man who wanted a family, as did I, and although I loved my dwelling, the perfect neighborhood wasn't for me. Community is where people know you, and want to know you, not where you pay homeowners' dues and hope someone gives a rat's ass about you. It took me two long years to realize this.
As crazy and hypocritical as my mother was, she always tried to tell me that home was where your family and friends were, not the structure you pay property taxes on. Although I will miss my beautiful dwelling, I'm leaving Suburbia along all of the smoke and mirrors of the American Dream. Community and happiness isn't about what you have, it's about who you're with, so this past weekend, I boarded a plane with my young daughter in tow, and headed South to California. My house won't be as big, but I'll be able to watch my nephew in his school play. My new neighborhood may not be suitable to grace the front of a postcard, but I'll be able to share meals with my sister-in-law, and my daughter will have her cousins to grow up with.
However, never fear dear readers, I will never abandon my writing. Besides, I'm living in LaLa Land now, and life here can be like living on a different planet. I am also married to Mr. Suburbia, so I will likely end up in a similar place, but this time, I'm keeping my eyes open for fellow punk-minded mamas, because there has to be others like me actively and proudly rejecting the American Dream.
Friday, June 08, 2007
5 Years and Counting...
I wasn’t looking for anything permanent the night I got that curious email. The whole ‘meeting people over the internet’ thing seemed creepy to me, but from the tone of the email I thought maybe this guy named Jeff was new to Boise, and I could show him around.
We spent the next week trading emails, and I swore I wouldn’t give out my phone number, because of the internet creepy factor, but he persisted. Little did I know this was a trait that I would come to both love and, at times, loathe about this interesting new person. We had a series of marathon phone conversations that equated to three to four hours every night for a month. I chuckle about it now, because the idea of my husband spending that much money on a phone bill is completely contradictory to his nature.
I found out during the course of our conversations that he was in Seattle, and worked for British Airways. He loved to travel, had an affinity for Billy Joel music, and grew up in California. On the surface we didn’t have all that much in common, but we both had an incredible sense of adventure, and despite the long distance, there was an amazing connection. He insisted on flying down to meet me in person, so we set a date.
I was nervous as I approached the airport gate to wait for him, it was pre-9/11, and so you could stand there with baited-breath waiting for your guest to arrive. He was one of the last people off the plane, and I’ll never forget how handsome he looked in his dark blue suit, red tie, and pale blue shirt. He made me smile, because along with his dapper look he also wore the largest coat I had ever seen. I told him prior to his visit that Idaho was a rugged place, and that it had been a rather cold February. He took my advice wearing a thick, hooded, green winter jacket that came down to his mid-thigh.
Our first weekend together was amazing. I’ll never forget the surge of excitement I felt when his plane was delayed on Sunday night. I had two extra hours to spend with him, and I was all smiles. My roommate told me a few days later that I was just beaming after that weekend. I flew up to Seattle two weeks later, and a long distance relationship had ensued.
Fate had another plan for us. By the end of March I had split from the concert promotion company I had worked for. It was devastating to be out of the business I had worked my whole life to get into, and I was completely lost. The only thing I knew, without a doubt, was that I was done with Idaho for good. I split with the company, and two days later was traveling on a one-way ticket back to Seattle with two suitcases and $300 in my pocket. Several friends made generous offers of guest beds and couches until I got on my feet, but Jeff insisted that I stay with him. I objected strongly since our relationship was so new, but just like with the phone number, he persisted. We moved in together in March 2001, and spent the next five months traveling all over the U.S.
In August, we bought a house, I got a job, and we settled down to a more domesticated life. He popped the question in December 2001 while we strolled along the Inner Harbor in one of my favorite places, Victoria, British Columbia.
Exactly five years ago today, we had a big, fat, Jewish wedding. I had always said that if I married again it would be a small ceremony, unless I married someone who hadn’t been previously married, then it was his call. Jeff wanted a big celebration, so I consented. Although his family lobbied for a California wedding, we were Seattle folks, so the wedding would be held in the Jet City. 95% of our guests were from out-of-town, and at first we thought we’d have a modest turnout. Wrong! Everyone paired our wedding with their vacation, so we welcomed over 140 friends and family members to our event.
On the day of the wedding, I kicked into event manager mode and went to work finishing last minute table favors. When I called on my mom and sister to help, they instead got into a huge screaming match in the middle of the kitchen. Unlike the bridezillas on TV, I didn’t sweat it. Instead I went to the cupboard and grabbed two of the small, airline sized bottles of vodka that Jeff collected over the years, and proceeded to retire to the family room with my dad to share a strong drink. Later I realized that consuming only two small bottles of vodka on your wedding day is not a wise move.
I carried on making it my hair appointment on time, then to the synagogue where I signed the ketuba (traditional Jewish marriage contract), and sat in a room in the basement, completely out of sight, until my stepdad and mother came down to get me. The three of us walked down the aisle, and in the amazing 30 minutes that followed Jeff and I became official.
By the way, the no food/all vodka issue came up during group photos after the ceremony, where I came within two breaths of passing out cold. Thankfully, my new sister-in-law was a nurse, and she ordered my new nephew to grab some sports drink and a folding chair. For all of those ladies out there who may want to marry, don’t forget to eat on your wedding day, because going to the emergency room instead of to the dance floor will not be the kind of memory you want of your wedding day, no matter how funny it will be later on.
We sailed away on a cruise for our honeymoon, then spent the following year working, traveling, improving our house, and just when we had done just about everything, and decided life was a little too boring, along came Miss Rachael.
We have had a lot of fun, some tears, a few bumps, and a lot of growing in the past five years, but the one thing I can honestly say with pride and heart in hand is that I love Jeff just as much today as I did five years ago when I met him at the end of the aisle wearing that stunning white dress.
Here’s to us, and the next five years, and all of the years after that! Little did I know that not hitting the ‘delete’ key was the best decision I would ever make.
We spent the next week trading emails, and I swore I wouldn’t give out my phone number, because of the internet creepy factor, but he persisted. Little did I know this was a trait that I would come to both love and, at times, loathe about this interesting new person. We had a series of marathon phone conversations that equated to three to four hours every night for a month. I chuckle about it now, because the idea of my husband spending that much money on a phone bill is completely contradictory to his nature.
I found out during the course of our conversations that he was in Seattle, and worked for British Airways. He loved to travel, had an affinity for Billy Joel music, and grew up in California. On the surface we didn’t have all that much in common, but we both had an incredible sense of adventure, and despite the long distance, there was an amazing connection. He insisted on flying down to meet me in person, so we set a date.
I was nervous as I approached the airport gate to wait for him, it was pre-9/11, and so you could stand there with baited-breath waiting for your guest to arrive. He was one of the last people off the plane, and I’ll never forget how handsome he looked in his dark blue suit, red tie, and pale blue shirt. He made me smile, because along with his dapper look he also wore the largest coat I had ever seen. I told him prior to his visit that Idaho was a rugged place, and that it had been a rather cold February. He took my advice wearing a thick, hooded, green winter jacket that came down to his mid-thigh.
Our first weekend together was amazing. I’ll never forget the surge of excitement I felt when his plane was delayed on Sunday night. I had two extra hours to spend with him, and I was all smiles. My roommate told me a few days later that I was just beaming after that weekend. I flew up to Seattle two weeks later, and a long distance relationship had ensued.
Fate had another plan for us. By the end of March I had split from the concert promotion company I had worked for. It was devastating to be out of the business I had worked my whole life to get into, and I was completely lost. The only thing I knew, without a doubt, was that I was done with Idaho for good. I split with the company, and two days later was traveling on a one-way ticket back to Seattle with two suitcases and $300 in my pocket. Several friends made generous offers of guest beds and couches until I got on my feet, but Jeff insisted that I stay with him. I objected strongly since our relationship was so new, but just like with the phone number, he persisted. We moved in together in March 2001, and spent the next five months traveling all over the U.S.
In August, we bought a house, I got a job, and we settled down to a more domesticated life. He popped the question in December 2001 while we strolled along the Inner Harbor in one of my favorite places, Victoria, British Columbia.
Exactly five years ago today, we had a big, fat, Jewish wedding. I had always said that if I married again it would be a small ceremony, unless I married someone who hadn’t been previously married, then it was his call. Jeff wanted a big celebration, so I consented. Although his family lobbied for a California wedding, we were Seattle folks, so the wedding would be held in the Jet City. 95% of our guests were from out-of-town, and at first we thought we’d have a modest turnout. Wrong! Everyone paired our wedding with their vacation, so we welcomed over 140 friends and family members to our event.
On the day of the wedding, I kicked into event manager mode and went to work finishing last minute table favors. When I called on my mom and sister to help, they instead got into a huge screaming match in the middle of the kitchen. Unlike the bridezillas on TV, I didn’t sweat it. Instead I went to the cupboard and grabbed two of the small, airline sized bottles of vodka that Jeff collected over the years, and proceeded to retire to the family room with my dad to share a strong drink. Later I realized that consuming only two small bottles of vodka on your wedding day is not a wise move.
I carried on making it my hair appointment on time, then to the synagogue where I signed the ketuba (traditional Jewish marriage contract), and sat in a room in the basement, completely out of sight, until my stepdad and mother came down to get me. The three of us walked down the aisle, and in the amazing 30 minutes that followed Jeff and I became official.
By the way, the no food/all vodka issue came up during group photos after the ceremony, where I came within two breaths of passing out cold. Thankfully, my new sister-in-law was a nurse, and she ordered my new nephew to grab some sports drink and a folding chair. For all of those ladies out there who may want to marry, don’t forget to eat on your wedding day, because going to the emergency room instead of to the dance floor will not be the kind of memory you want of your wedding day, no matter how funny it will be later on.
We sailed away on a cruise for our honeymoon, then spent the following year working, traveling, improving our house, and just when we had done just about everything, and decided life was a little too boring, along came Miss Rachael.
We have had a lot of fun, some tears, a few bumps, and a lot of growing in the past five years, but the one thing I can honestly say with pride and heart in hand is that I love Jeff just as much today as I did five years ago when I met him at the end of the aisle wearing that stunning white dress.
Here’s to us, and the next five years, and all of the years after that! Little did I know that not hitting the ‘delete’ key was the best decision I would ever make.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Where Have You Been?
My co-workers laughed when I told them that Jeff and I were taking a cruise to Alaska for our 5th wedding anniversary, because I'm always cold. Seriously, I'm the one wearing a coat in 80 degree weather. I take iron pills and yet, I'm shivering while standing in the sun. The cruise was great, but I did freeze my ass off. Here are a few things we did and saw:
Mmmmmm. Reindeer? Kosher reindeer? They've got some weird tastebuds up North, and paaaleeaasee, like they have more than a dozen Jews in Alaska.
Told you I was cold! The scenery, however, was gorgeous.
Kids, this is a glacier. They did once exist until the U.S. government walking hand-in-hand with big business helped perpetuate global warming.
Jeff and me on the high seas on our only sunny, warm day in Alaska. We were heading to Ketchikan on one of the water taxis.
Finally, Mel finds a way to keep warm in Alaska!
Mmmmmm. Reindeer? Kosher reindeer? They've got some weird tastebuds up North, and paaaleeaasee, like they have more than a dozen Jews in Alaska.
Told you I was cold! The scenery, however, was gorgeous.
Kids, this is a glacier. They did once exist until the U.S. government walking hand-in-hand with big business helped perpetuate global warming.
Jeff and me on the high seas on our only sunny, warm day in Alaska. We were heading to Ketchikan on one of the water taxis.
Finally, Mel finds a way to keep warm in Alaska!
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