Last night, the fiance' and I went to Satchel's, our favorite pizza place, for dinner. It was a busy night and they aren't afraid to ask patrons to share tables, so after a 1-hour wait (not uncommon, but worth it) we were seated on the edge of a table with another party on it, right next to the children's play area. If you've ever seen their play area, you know it's literally just a small corner with some old toys in it and a bench. This is normally not a problem.
Now, I have to take a moment to try and summarize my view on kids... Not a huge fan. I don't mind them. Heck, I even like some of them. They're cute at a very young age, slowly getting less cute as they learn the definition, and then the art, of being mean or selfish. So, I'll play with little ones if need be, but bottom line in my eyes is, they're yours. I don't have any. I have not chosen to birth any, and there is a reason for that. Please take care of your own kids. It's not my job to watch them if you aren't paying attention just because they are near me.
There are some people with kids that will read the previous paragraph and think I'm a crude bitch who doesn't know that babies are what makes the world go 'round. Newsflash to those people: we have plenty of babies, thanks. Adopt some. Still not my job to take care of them for you or my problem if they are being loud or obnoxious. If I wanted that sort of responsibility I would have some myself, but I know I have a very low tolerance for them between the ages of 5 and 12, so I do the world a favor and don't have one right now. I understand that babies cry. There's nothing you can do about it and you should still be able to go out for some dinner. Most parents with crying babies, I have found, seem to do what they can when in public to calm the baby. Thank you, from all the non-parents out there.
Back to the story of last night. So, we're sitting by the kids corner, very excited for our food because Satchel's can be pricey, so it's a special treat for us. We probably haven't been there in 6 months and probably won't go back for another 6 months since E will be back in school and up to his nose in debt. At first there were just a few young kids playing. They made some noise, but who doesn't? However, one large party seemed to finish up their meals and sent ALL of their children to the kids area while they talked, even some kids that were obviously not going to play with the giant 3-piece puzzle or the tea set. I would guess the oldest was about 9. So here are about 6-7 children aging from 2 to 9 in this one tiny corner right next to my chair, both boys and girls, putting buckets on their heads, yelling and throwing things. Here's how close they were to me: 5 of them were fighting to sit on the 3-person bench and I got kicked in the arm.
The parents knew the children were misbehaving, but what did they care? The kids were at least 10 feet away, and that's about as far as parental responsibility goes in a restaurant, right? Anyway, one woman seemed to try to calm them down by looking over, giving a stern eye, and then turning right back to her conversation. By the time we got our pizza (it takes about another 45 minutes to get your food, still worth it) I was kicked, my chair was getting hit by a bucket as if it were a drum, kids were screaming "mine!" in high-pitched voices in my ear, and boys were elbowing my chair as they fought over whatever. No one actually did anything until I had to move to the other side of the table and eat my food in annoyed silence since there was no way I could hear E. I guess people noticed I had moved, so one lady came over and asked the kids to be quiet, apologized for the noise (which was the least of my problems) and walked away. Finally when we were about 15 minutes from leaving, one woman that seemed to be the grandmother and had been taking pictures of the cute kids fighting took them all out to the shop in back. It was too late and the special meal that I have maybe twice a year was ruined. I was in a bad mood and half the restaurant kept looking over at me as if to say "that's the bitch that can't stand watching innocent children play." I felt embarrassed, frustrated, and singled out.
Why is it that our society values children so much that even a bad word, look, or thought towards them is grounds for a stoning? Why is it that if one couple has children in the room, it becomes everyone's job to deal with them and/or keep an eye on them. Don't get me wrong. Value your children, please. But don't make it my job to value them, too. If you chose to have them, they should be your precious jewels. I only have jewels for my fingers and ears, thanks. I don't want some that talk back. Why is it that no matter how bad, how loud, how unreasonable, or how violent your kid is, I have to take it and take it with a smile when I'm out for a nice night?
Look, I'm not one of those people that sees a kid in a restaurant or on a plane and thinks "oh, great, I'll have to deal with THAT." But if your kid(s) are very obviously causing someone distress, please take them back to your table or take them outside like the lady finally did at the end of the night. You birthed them for a reason, whatever that reason may be. You get the good AND the bad. You don't get to let someone else deal with the bad when they have no choice.
Basically, it only makes sense to me that if:
A. you have a kid
B. I don't have a kid
C. that kid is causing enough of a problem,
then
D. you should have the ruined night, not me.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Defending my Family
In light of the recent election, there has been lots of talk about taxes. I recently had a very short conversation with a friend about taxes and the fact that she is a fiscal conservative (which I am definitely not). I was fine until she got to the reason why she is a fiscal conservative. She started to talk about her parents and how much money they had (a lot) and one thought kept running through my head, "Don't say it. Don't say it." ...And then she said it.
"It's just that I see how hard my parents worked for what they have and got themselves into a lot of debt for it. If you make a good amount of money, you worked hard for it and you should get to keep it."
Up until this point in my life I may have said that my blood has boiled, but today I actually felt it. I literally felt little bubbles form in my blood and fizz their way violently through my arms, making their way into my chest, where they made my heart skip beats and shove said bubbles farther upward into my brain, turning my ears hot and likely causing an aneurysm.
I wanted to be sure before I let myself have a stroke, so I told her that lots of people work hard for their money and still don't earn as much. Plenty don't have the credit to get themselves into debt for a higher education. To which she replied generally that people who earn more worked harder.
*stroke*
This person was having an innocent conversation with a friend but I know there are plenty of people out there who believe that if you work hard, you make lots of money. Therefore, if you earn less it means you're lazy. I tried to tell my friend that my parents worked plenty hard for their money, but it was plainly visible from the glazed look in her eyes that she still thought her parents probably worked harder than mine did for what they've got.
My father studied to be a history professor at the University of Puerto Rico. Yes, he got a degree. Probably the first in his family to get one. Right after he got his bachelors, he got drafted to serve in Vietnam. He developed PTSD in that war. He saw friends die in front of him. After that, he was never the same. He couldn't hold a job. He ended up going into mechanics. He fixed cars for a company for a while here in the states and brought our family over. He was soon laid off from his auto mechanic job due to a bad economy. He spent the next few decades trying to get the compensation he rightly deserved from the government. The government was, and still is, denying so many Vietnam veterans the medical and psychological care they earned fighting for this country. He didn't finally get full support from the VA until I, his youngest child, had already left for college. By that time, he was almost 60. Was it lazy of him not to go back to school to be an engineer, doctor, lawyer, or other highly paid professional? He didn't work hard enough, right? He should've gotten off his lazy butt and tried to transfer UPR credits here (which is ridiculously impossible even though PR is a territory) and gone back for a PhD in something that makes you rich, because those are the only ones that prove you worked for a living. His PTSD and the time spent fighting the government wouldn't interfere with an expensive, long education, right? What about my mom? The licenses she trained for in PR don't work here. They ended up lapsing as she struggled to raise 3 kids with a sporadic dad with PTSD, which no one understood at the time, in a country where she didn't speak the native language. She obviously didn't work as hard as others since she didn't find some magic money to stick us in day care as my dad struggled with unemployment (among other demons), and get herself to some English classes, then some training she had already gone through so she could work here and, what, leave us at home alone all day? We had no family here for the first few years. My family didn't have furniture for our first year living in the continental US. I didn't learn to walk until we went to visit one of my father's friends and I suddenly started using the furniture to hop around. My mother had to watch me learn to walk in a stranger's home. Was it a tough situation or was it because my parents were too lazy to get some couches?
Look, we don't all have the same cookie cutter background where everything is possible. The truth exists that some people have to work harder to reach the same level of prosperity.
I didn't tell my extremely personal story here for pity or attention. It's just the story I know, and there are plenty of other people's stories out there, each one completely unique. Just because your family grew up relatively well off and went through some tough schooling and got lots of credit cards doesn't mean they worked harder than those who have to struggle to just buy groceries. It means they took more exams. I'm not saying they don't work hard, but you need to define what kind of work you mean and be really damn specific before you go around saying poor people obviously don't work as hard as the CEOs of the world.
And what about me? I was lucky enough to earn a full scholarship and silly enough to go to school for something I loved, instead of something that would just get me lots of money so i could own 2 houses and a boat. Does that make me lazy, or just idealistic? I love my parents for all their hard work to give me even the chance at a better, easier life. All 3 of their kids got degrees. And, you know what? I'm happy making peanuts, because I am still living more comfortably than my parents did, than we did, 20 years ago. They're the hardest working people I have ever known.
"It's just that I see how hard my parents worked for what they have and got themselves into a lot of debt for it. If you make a good amount of money, you worked hard for it and you should get to keep it."
Up until this point in my life I may have said that my blood has boiled, but today I actually felt it. I literally felt little bubbles form in my blood and fizz their way violently through my arms, making their way into my chest, where they made my heart skip beats and shove said bubbles farther upward into my brain, turning my ears hot and likely causing an aneurysm.
I wanted to be sure before I let myself have a stroke, so I told her that lots of people work hard for their money and still don't earn as much. Plenty don't have the credit to get themselves into debt for a higher education. To which she replied generally that people who earn more worked harder.
*stroke*
This person was having an innocent conversation with a friend but I know there are plenty of people out there who believe that if you work hard, you make lots of money. Therefore, if you earn less it means you're lazy. I tried to tell my friend that my parents worked plenty hard for their money, but it was plainly visible from the glazed look in her eyes that she still thought her parents probably worked harder than mine did for what they've got.
My father studied to be a history professor at the University of Puerto Rico. Yes, he got a degree. Probably the first in his family to get one. Right after he got his bachelors, he got drafted to serve in Vietnam. He developed PTSD in that war. He saw friends die in front of him. After that, he was never the same. He couldn't hold a job. He ended up going into mechanics. He fixed cars for a company for a while here in the states and brought our family over. He was soon laid off from his auto mechanic job due to a bad economy. He spent the next few decades trying to get the compensation he rightly deserved from the government. The government was, and still is, denying so many Vietnam veterans the medical and psychological care they earned fighting for this country. He didn't finally get full support from the VA until I, his youngest child, had already left for college. By that time, he was almost 60. Was it lazy of him not to go back to school to be an engineer, doctor, lawyer, or other highly paid professional? He didn't work hard enough, right? He should've gotten off his lazy butt and tried to transfer UPR credits here (which is ridiculously impossible even though PR is a territory) and gone back for a PhD in something that makes you rich, because those are the only ones that prove you worked for a living. His PTSD and the time spent fighting the government wouldn't interfere with an expensive, long education, right? What about my mom? The licenses she trained for in PR don't work here. They ended up lapsing as she struggled to raise 3 kids with a sporadic dad with PTSD, which no one understood at the time, in a country where she didn't speak the native language. She obviously didn't work as hard as others since she didn't find some magic money to stick us in day care as my dad struggled with unemployment (among other demons), and get herself to some English classes, then some training she had already gone through so she could work here and, what, leave us at home alone all day? We had no family here for the first few years. My family didn't have furniture for our first year living in the continental US. I didn't learn to walk until we went to visit one of my father's friends and I suddenly started using the furniture to hop around. My mother had to watch me learn to walk in a stranger's home. Was it a tough situation or was it because my parents were too lazy to get some couches?
Look, we don't all have the same cookie cutter background where everything is possible. The truth exists that some people have to work harder to reach the same level of prosperity.
I didn't tell my extremely personal story here for pity or attention. It's just the story I know, and there are plenty of other people's stories out there, each one completely unique. Just because your family grew up relatively well off and went through some tough schooling and got lots of credit cards doesn't mean they worked harder than those who have to struggle to just buy groceries. It means they took more exams. I'm not saying they don't work hard, but you need to define what kind of work you mean and be really damn specific before you go around saying poor people obviously don't work as hard as the CEOs of the world.
And what about me? I was lucky enough to earn a full scholarship and silly enough to go to school for something I loved, instead of something that would just get me lots of money so i could own 2 houses and a boat. Does that make me lazy, or just idealistic? I love my parents for all their hard work to give me even the chance at a better, easier life. All 3 of their kids got degrees. And, you know what? I'm happy making peanuts, because I am still living more comfortably than my parents did, than we did, 20 years ago. They're the hardest working people I have ever known.
Friday, August 29, 2008
The Wedding Date: How Hard can it be?
I'm finding it even harder to choose a wedding date than I originally thought. I've done research and drowned myself in advice like: choose a date around a holiday to make travel easy, don't choose a date around a holiday because travel will be expensive, choose a random date and just go with it even if it lands in the middle of the week, choose a date that is significant for you, don't pick a date in football season (this one is true), go off-season, go in-season, etc.
At first I had it narrowed down to a 1-month period in summer since E was planning on teaching. I had wanted to avoid those hot months in Florida, but I was starting to get used to the idea and got it down to 2 possible Saturdays. Then, we find out E will actually be working on his Master's degree that year and starting to teach the fall after our wedding. Well, I was going to stick to my summer plans until I realized we would possibly be in the middle of a move in the summer if he gets a job in another state (very likely). There is no way I would survive planning a wedding, a honeymoon AND a big move in the same month. I'm sure you would agree.
The upside to all this is that I have a tiny bit more freedom in choosing a month. There is the option to have a wedding and save the honeymoon for later, but this is one of those things I want to be a little traditional about. E and I do not have what you'd call a traditional relationship by far, and we like to do things the weird way. I mean, he proposed to me in my pajamas, for goodness' sake. We're both the outgoing ones in our families and wouldn't think twice about joining Americorps or going off to help rebuild houses somewhere if we had the time, money and opportunity. I'm going to make our wedding about us and not about making a big fancy show, BUT I want our wedding to only be nontraditional in the fact that I will try to make it "green" and not impact the environment too much. Besides that, I want a ceremony, a reception, and then a freaking honeymoon. All in order, just like that. So, I'm left with two options: the County Schools spring break (E will be doing an education internship so he'll get that off) or UF spring break (as a student he gets this off, too). Yes, he gets 2 spring breaks. This happened last year as well.
I had my heart set on April, since that is one of the months it rains the least in Gainesville (along with October, in case you wanted to know). I got excited when I saw April 10 was a Saturday, because how cool would it be to have our wedding on April 10, 2o10? Unfortunately, that's at the end of the Alachua County spring break week. The Saturday before reminds me of a bad day and I can't get it out of my head so I don't want my anniversary on that day every year. My other option is probably March 6, 2010. I'm thinking that sounds good, but UF hasn't even sent out a proposed schedule for 2010. They tend not to decide until the last minute, and I don't want to deal with a wedding date that could possibly change a few months before. Would people even go to a wedding that was set right before their spring break? *sigh* It might be best to do summer after all or even a later honeymoon. Well, I'm still hopeful for 4/10/2010. Any advice/thoughts?
At first I had it narrowed down to a 1-month period in summer since E was planning on teaching. I had wanted to avoid those hot months in Florida, but I was starting to get used to the idea and got it down to 2 possible Saturdays. Then, we find out E will actually be working on his Master's degree that year and starting to teach the fall after our wedding. Well, I was going to stick to my summer plans until I realized we would possibly be in the middle of a move in the summer if he gets a job in another state (very likely). There is no way I would survive planning a wedding, a honeymoon AND a big move in the same month. I'm sure you would agree.
The upside to all this is that I have a tiny bit more freedom in choosing a month. There is the option to have a wedding and save the honeymoon for later, but this is one of those things I want to be a little traditional about. E and I do not have what you'd call a traditional relationship by far, and we like to do things the weird way. I mean, he proposed to me in my pajamas, for goodness' sake. We're both the outgoing ones in our families and wouldn't think twice about joining Americorps or going off to help rebuild houses somewhere if we had the time, money and opportunity. I'm going to make our wedding about us and not about making a big fancy show, BUT I want our wedding to only be nontraditional in the fact that I will try to make it "green" and not impact the environment too much. Besides that, I want a ceremony, a reception, and then a freaking honeymoon. All in order, just like that. So, I'm left with two options: the County Schools spring break (E will be doing an education internship so he'll get that off) or UF spring break (as a student he gets this off, too). Yes, he gets 2 spring breaks. This happened last year as well.
I had my heart set on April, since that is one of the months it rains the least in Gainesville (along with October, in case you wanted to know). I got excited when I saw April 10 was a Saturday, because how cool would it be to have our wedding on April 10, 2o10? Unfortunately, that's at the end of the Alachua County spring break week. The Saturday before reminds me of a bad day and I can't get it out of my head so I don't want my anniversary on that day every year. My other option is probably March 6, 2010. I'm thinking that sounds good, but UF hasn't even sent out a proposed schedule for 2010. They tend not to decide until the last minute, and I don't want to deal with a wedding date that could possibly change a few months before. Would people even go to a wedding that was set right before their spring break? *sigh* It might be best to do summer after all or even a later honeymoon. Well, I'm still hopeful for 4/10/2010. Any advice/thoughts?
Friday, August 15, 2008
Review: Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt
Angela's Ashes is a memoir describing life growing up in Limerick, Ireland, soon after winning independence from England. Frank McCourt praises his mother, Angela, for raising 4 boys with (or without) a drunken father who is perpetually losing jobs and sends no money to the family. He can see his boys have barely any food and a few rags for clothing, yet he can't muster the courage to quit the pint. Angela manages to keep their lives afloat while reminding them to be strong, even though she finds it difficult herself, having lost 3 children to illnesses that most likely could have been avoided with the funds for proper medical care, warm housing and nourishment. McCourt doesn't idolize his mother, however, and still points out her flaws honestly.
McCourt summarizes his memoir in this way:
"When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood."
This serves as a proper introduction to this book. It is difficult to believe he survived into his 20s. He dealt with typhoid, horrendous pinkeye that lasted for several years, barely a few slices of fried bread each week, and torn rags for clothes spring through winter. He was no special boy, and knew that he had more than some children in his school. Though his shoes were mended with pieces of tire, at least he had them. He wanted to go to school no more than any other child. He just wanted to work and provide for his family the way his father had not.
This book is written mostly in stream of consciousness. Not much punctuation, but written the way a child would think. It makes it easy to get inside his head and feel all the anxiety and anger he feels. He perseveres to reach his goal of making it back to America, where he was born and lived until he was 4 or 5, and escape the poverty-ridden Ireland that England left behind. McCourt embraces his religion, though not the priests who run it. Many of them tell people to feel blessed to be poor, while enjoying banquets and comforts in their own homes. While some priests are kind and forgiving, others call the boys evil in confession and he fears being rejected and left for hell if he admits too much.
I was completely engrossed in this book and could hardly put it down. It's a pretty exciting read throughout. I found myself pulled into the Irish culture, starting to call beers pints by the end and cursing with the word "fecking" instead of the usual.
I was pleased to reach a part in the book where McCourt encounters Shakespeare, but only one line's worth. In any case, he finds it to be the most beautiful line he has ever read. He says "...it's like having jewels in my mouth when I say the words." He didn't really know what the words meant since he was only 11 at the time. The line is "I do believe, induced by potent circumstances that thou art mine enemy" said by Catherine, Henry the 8th's wife.
My favorite line from the book is "It's lovely to know the world can't interfere with the inside of your head." It's a good lesson to take from the book as a whole. The other feeling I take from this book is utter confusion and sadness at the way McCourt's father, Malachy, treated his family. I can't understand how a man could drink away the only money his family receives to survive off of for a whole week in one day. He just sits at the bar, even with his son telling him to stop drinking the money for the baby's milk, and drinks pint after pint until all the money is gone. He seems to have no remorse. He refuses to ask for handouts because he feels it is unmanly and beneath him. Eventually, he goes off to England where the jobs are and sends money home maybe once. Then they just don't hear from him. The other men who return say he drinks the money away, loses homes and loses jobs, having no regard for the family he abandoned back in Ireland. I just don't understand how a person could do that. I guess that's alcoholism for you.
I only wish I could find more photos of McCourt's family at that time than the one that is in my edition of the book. Of course, this would be difficult since they were very poor and it was so long ago. If anyone finds one other than the photo of McCourt and his classmates in front of Leamy's school, let me know. Oh, and read the book. Definitely worth it. I found my copy for just $3 at Book Gallery West on 16th and 43rd. It's a great place to find cheap books if you're willing to sift.
McCourt summarizes his memoir in this way:
"When I look back on my childhood I wonder how I survived at all. It was, of course, a miserable childhood: the happy childhood is hardly worth your while. Worse than the ordinary miserable childhood is the miserable Irish childhood, and worse yet is the miserable Irish Catholic childhood."
This serves as a proper introduction to this book. It is difficult to believe he survived into his 20s. He dealt with typhoid, horrendous pinkeye that lasted for several years, barely a few slices of fried bread each week, and torn rags for clothes spring through winter. He was no special boy, and knew that he had more than some children in his school. Though his shoes were mended with pieces of tire, at least he had them. He wanted to go to school no more than any other child. He just wanted to work and provide for his family the way his father had not.
This book is written mostly in stream of consciousness. Not much punctuation, but written the way a child would think. It makes it easy to get inside his head and feel all the anxiety and anger he feels. He perseveres to reach his goal of making it back to America, where he was born and lived until he was 4 or 5, and escape the poverty-ridden Ireland that England left behind. McCourt embraces his religion, though not the priests who run it. Many of them tell people to feel blessed to be poor, while enjoying banquets and comforts in their own homes. While some priests are kind and forgiving, others call the boys evil in confession and he fears being rejected and left for hell if he admits too much.
I was completely engrossed in this book and could hardly put it down. It's a pretty exciting read throughout. I found myself pulled into the Irish culture, starting to call beers pints by the end and cursing with the word "fecking" instead of the usual.
I was pleased to reach a part in the book where McCourt encounters Shakespeare, but only one line's worth. In any case, he finds it to be the most beautiful line he has ever read. He says "...it's like having jewels in my mouth when I say the words." He didn't really know what the words meant since he was only 11 at the time. The line is "I do believe, induced by potent circumstances that thou art mine enemy" said by Catherine, Henry the 8th's wife.
My favorite line from the book is "It's lovely to know the world can't interfere with the inside of your head." It's a good lesson to take from the book as a whole. The other feeling I take from this book is utter confusion and sadness at the way McCourt's father, Malachy, treated his family. I can't understand how a man could drink away the only money his family receives to survive off of for a whole week in one day. He just sits at the bar, even with his son telling him to stop drinking the money for the baby's milk, and drinks pint after pint until all the money is gone. He seems to have no remorse. He refuses to ask for handouts because he feels it is unmanly and beneath him. Eventually, he goes off to England where the jobs are and sends money home maybe once. Then they just don't hear from him. The other men who return say he drinks the money away, loses homes and loses jobs, having no regard for the family he abandoned back in Ireland. I just don't understand how a person could do that. I guess that's alcoholism for you.
I only wish I could find more photos of McCourt's family at that time than the one that is in my edition of the book. Of course, this would be difficult since they were very poor and it was so long ago. If anyone finds one other than the photo of McCourt and his classmates in front of Leamy's school, let me know. Oh, and read the book. Definitely worth it. I found my copy for just $3 at Book Gallery West on 16th and 43rd. It's a great place to find cheap books if you're willing to sift.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
The Engagement Dinner, Where Families Meet
Last weekend, E (my fiancé) and I traveled down to Naples, otherwise known as Retirement Village or Village of the Damned Old. What would entice us to, first of all, go to Naples and, second of all, waste so much gas going there? Well, remember the whole us-getting-engaged thing? We figured our families might appreciate knowing who they were accepting as their own. We’ve been dating over three years, but our families have never actually met each other. *Enter scary music.*
Yes, we were off to Naples for my family to meet the fiancé’s family. I’ve seen situations like this plenty of times on TV, which of course makes me an expert on the matter. We are supposed to arrive late, drenched from the rain and muddy up their house while one relative drinks himself into stupor and another burns the turkey and/or drops the mashed potato tray on the carpet. Right? Oh, I forgot the argument or two the parents are supposed to have amongst themselves, making everyone feel awkward. Maybe a kid can drop a half-sucked candy in my purse before I leave “for later.” To my utter amazement, these things did not happen. My main fear was this: My family speaks mostly Spanish and his family speaks none. My secondary, but somewhat related fear was that my family would be very shy (except for my dad, who sometimes talks so much that people don’t really know what he’s saying in that Spanish accent).
I did everything I could to make it as smooth-sailing as possible. I wanted to have it in a restaurant in Naples (where E’s family lives, 2 hours North of my parents, 4 hours South of me) so no one had to do any cooking or cleanup. However, each time I mentioned this Engagement Dinner to any of E’s family members, they assured me that they would make the turkey. I had E tell them the restaurant idea, but they insisted on having the dinner at their home so that everyone could mingle. Everyone? Everyone is my mom and dad who speak mostly Spanish, my sister, my brother and sister-in-law who will be busy with the baby, and my fiancé’s parents and teenaged sister. Really, the only people who would be saying much (our dads) could just sit nearest each other in the restaurant. Anyway, I was outnumbered. My only request was for catered food so no one would have to slave in the kitchen and we keep it simple. They said of course.
Here is where it gets good.
About two weeks before the event, E starts getting frantic calls from his father. His mom has apparently gone nuts-o with preparations. He can’t seem to muster any other words than “your mother is freaking out.” I think he just repeated that 5 or 6 times. I keep telling E to remind them I just want something simple that requires no prep other than calling a restaurant to make sure they’ll send food at some point during the day. About 4 days away she called and asked how to spell my family’s names for the place cards… Let me repeat myself. PLACE CARDS. At this point, I know I’ve lost control. If the magnitude of this dinner has gotten to the point where she thinks place cards at the tables are the next logical step, then it has gone way past the simple dinner I wanted it to be. Now my family is going to be extra shy because they’ll feel all out-of-place and intimidated. All I wanted was for his mom to maybe vacuum the floor and make sure there are enough paper plates for people to serve themselves.
My family get-togethers are usually some rented tables for the food to sit on and lots of paper plates and plasticware. Plastic tablecloths, too. Then we pray and line up to pile great mountains of arroz con pollo, pernil, pan con mantecilla, yucca con mojo, pasteles, arroz con dulce, and tembleque on our winn-dixie brand plates. That’s what makes us feel at home. I hope his family can visit mine in Miami soon to see it.
The day finally arrives and we are warned to stay away from the house as long as possible. We stop by in the morning to drop some stuff off and see if we can help, and I immediately enter into panic mode. His mom has spent the past two days making hors d’ouvre after hors d’ouvre. There are so many starters and dips in the works. She also had a cake made for us with our names on it (I actually loved this part and thought it was a great idea), brownies, and strawberries with their own sauce for dessert. There were huge wildflowers that must’ve cost a fortune ready to go into tall floor vases, roses, and detailed little centerpieces for each table. There were the name cards, along with full sets of fine china and family silverware.
Doilies.
Once I found out she had hired her daughter and her daughter’s friend to “work the party,” E decided we should leave. We would pick up a couple of things she still needed and have a quiet lunch. I guess he saw me starting to shiver. I have to take a moment to say that his mom is a wonderful, fun person. She only goes overboard sometimes because she wants to do a good job and make everyone happy. Apparently, she’s into this event-planning thing.
We took a moment to visit my family in their hotel once they got into town so I could have a quiet reunion before dinner. I hadn’t seen them in a few months. Their reaction to the actual dinner was about what I expected. They were really shy and asked me if they were under-dressed (except for my sister, who asked me if she was dressed too fancy, oddly enough, even though she was in cute jeans, a polka-dot top and matching shoes and hair band). The first 5 or 10 minutes were spent introducing people and then listening to the painful silence that followed. My fam wandered around a bit, clearly out of their element and pointed out various beautiful details. Luckily, they opened up with a little time. People starting talking, although they later told me they were a bit weirded out by the teenagers waiting on everyone with hors d’ouvre trays and drinks. I was sad that his mom ended up spending most of her time in the kitchen and not much time chatting. I could tell my family really liked her when she was around.
Besides a few phrases that needed repeating or translating, all went -mostly- well. We all had a great time, enjoyed the food and my family loved his family. They didn’t really like Naples the city, but that is to be expected.
Yes, we were off to Naples for my family to meet the fiancé’s family. I’ve seen situations like this plenty of times on TV, which of course makes me an expert on the matter. We are supposed to arrive late, drenched from the rain and muddy up their house while one relative drinks himself into stupor and another burns the turkey and/or drops the mashed potato tray on the carpet. Right? Oh, I forgot the argument or two the parents are supposed to have amongst themselves, making everyone feel awkward. Maybe a kid can drop a half-sucked candy in my purse before I leave “for later.” To my utter amazement, these things did not happen. My main fear was this: My family speaks mostly Spanish and his family speaks none. My secondary, but somewhat related fear was that my family would be very shy (except for my dad, who sometimes talks so much that people don’t really know what he’s saying in that Spanish accent).
I did everything I could to make it as smooth-sailing as possible. I wanted to have it in a restaurant in Naples (where E’s family lives, 2 hours North of my parents, 4 hours South of me) so no one had to do any cooking or cleanup. However, each time I mentioned this Engagement Dinner to any of E’s family members, they assured me that they would make the turkey. I had E tell them the restaurant idea, but they insisted on having the dinner at their home so that everyone could mingle. Everyone? Everyone is my mom and dad who speak mostly Spanish, my sister, my brother and sister-in-law who will be busy with the baby, and my fiancé’s parents and teenaged sister. Really, the only people who would be saying much (our dads) could just sit nearest each other in the restaurant. Anyway, I was outnumbered. My only request was for catered food so no one would have to slave in the kitchen and we keep it simple. They said of course.
Here is where it gets good.
About two weeks before the event, E starts getting frantic calls from his father. His mom has apparently gone nuts-o with preparations. He can’t seem to muster any other words than “your mother is freaking out.” I think he just repeated that 5 or 6 times. I keep telling E to remind them I just want something simple that requires no prep other than calling a restaurant to make sure they’ll send food at some point during the day. About 4 days away she called and asked how to spell my family’s names for the place cards… Let me repeat myself. PLACE CARDS. At this point, I know I’ve lost control. If the magnitude of this dinner has gotten to the point where she thinks place cards at the tables are the next logical step, then it has gone way past the simple dinner I wanted it to be. Now my family is going to be extra shy because they’ll feel all out-of-place and intimidated. All I wanted was for his mom to maybe vacuum the floor and make sure there are enough paper plates for people to serve themselves.
My family get-togethers are usually some rented tables for the food to sit on and lots of paper plates and plasticware. Plastic tablecloths, too. Then we pray and line up to pile great mountains of arroz con pollo, pernil, pan con mantecilla, yucca con mojo, pasteles, arroz con dulce, and tembleque on our winn-dixie brand plates. That’s what makes us feel at home. I hope his family can visit mine in Miami soon to see it.
The day finally arrives and we are warned to stay away from the house as long as possible. We stop by in the morning to drop some stuff off and see if we can help, and I immediately enter into panic mode. His mom has spent the past two days making hors d’ouvre after hors d’ouvre. There are so many starters and dips in the works. She also had a cake made for us with our names on it (I actually loved this part and thought it was a great idea), brownies, and strawberries with their own sauce for dessert. There were huge wildflowers that must’ve cost a fortune ready to go into tall floor vases, roses, and detailed little centerpieces for each table. There were the name cards, along with full sets of fine china and family silverware.
Doilies.
Once I found out she had hired her daughter and her daughter’s friend to “work the party,” E decided we should leave. We would pick up a couple of things she still needed and have a quiet lunch. I guess he saw me starting to shiver. I have to take a moment to say that his mom is a wonderful, fun person. She only goes overboard sometimes because she wants to do a good job and make everyone happy. Apparently, she’s into this event-planning thing.
We took a moment to visit my family in their hotel once they got into town so I could have a quiet reunion before dinner. I hadn’t seen them in a few months. Their reaction to the actual dinner was about what I expected. They were really shy and asked me if they were under-dressed (except for my sister, who asked me if she was dressed too fancy, oddly enough, even though she was in cute jeans, a polka-dot top and matching shoes and hair band). The first 5 or 10 minutes were spent introducing people and then listening to the painful silence that followed. My fam wandered around a bit, clearly out of their element and pointed out various beautiful details. Luckily, they opened up with a little time. People starting talking, although they later told me they were a bit weirded out by the teenagers waiting on everyone with hors d’ouvre trays and drinks. I was sad that his mom ended up spending most of her time in the kitchen and not much time chatting. I could tell my family really liked her when she was around.
Besides a few phrases that needed repeating or translating, all went -mostly- well. We all had a great time, enjoyed the food and my family loved his family. They didn’t really like Naples the city, but that is to be expected.
Friday, July 11, 2008
The Goings-on of the Past Month
Well, it has been quite a while since my last post, but I've been a busy lady. I got engaged about 2 or 3 weeks ago, which is interesting considering my first couple of posts. I'm excited and happy and on edge all at once. Luckily, we've opted for a long engagement for two reasons. One reason is to actually enjoy the engagement and congratulations' for a while before the planning has to start. The other reason is for my own mental health. I can be prone to panicking in stressful situations that involve dates and times and waiting and going places... so I want to spend at least part of my engagement not anticipating an anxiety attack. Preliminary date: Summer 2010.
Even though we're doing the long engagement thing, I couldn't help myself but to start looking at some locations and gathering ideas. It may turn into business later, but right now it's just fun. I've started making a list of people to invite because I really can't do any kind of planning or budgeting until I know how big this thing is going to be. Luckily, it looks like we may be able to stay under 100 invitees, which would be great. Fiance and I both have pretty small families and a large group of shared friends, so it looks like we'll have about half and half friends and family. Maybe even more friends than family members. Is that weird? Is it common or is it inappropriate to end up with a wedding that has more friends than actual relatives?
If you want the engagement story, here it is:
We begin about a week before it happened. I came home from work and E (my fiance) was at his evening job. I happened to notice a strange FedEx package sitting on the table. Now, we never get FedEx at home. UPS, sure, but not FedEx. In fact, I use FedEx almost exclusively at my job, so seeing this package on my table was like coming home to your work phone and a stapler mysteriously sitting on your bed, waiting for you. "Holy crap, it followed me home!" Needless to say, I walked over to the box cautiously and tipped it a little to see if it was empty. It lifted up pretty easily, and I really didn't want to touch it anymore so I figured it was E's and he had already opened it. Maybe it was the Obama shirt he ordered a while ago.
Anyway, I made dinner and brought it to him at work. When I asked about the package, he definitely gave me the deer-in-headlights look and said, "yeah, I got a package."
After a pause I asked, "...and what was in it?"
"Nothing... books! Books for class." (Keep in mind this was during the last week or so of the semester.)
"Oh, okay."
"But don't look in it, because I bought a book for you, too, and it's a surprise."
"A surprise book?" I asked.
"Yeah, so don't mess with the box."
"When do I get my surprise book?"
And then with a sly smile, "I don't know, I have to wait until the right time."
So, we moved to another topic of conversation and I was pretty suspicious. The next day, we made plans for the weekend and he really wanted to do some walking around downtown, which I am ALWAYS up for. We were planning on parking downtown and then walking around until we saw a place we wanted to eat, then going to Stubbies or Market Street Pub, and perhaps some late-night martinis, apps, and hookah at 101 Downtown. This was a lot of stuff. I thought maybe this was going to turn into a celebration after a possible proposal at dinner, but I was still really cautious with my thoughts since I tend to jump the gun with stuff like this. Once we parked downtown, E started walking in a very specific direction. He wasn't walking towards where all the restaurants and bars are, so he really seemed to have a specific place he wanted to go. Of course, we walk straight over to Dragonfly and he says "Oh, look, Dragonfly! Let's eat there." As if he hadn't planned it. So at this point, I'm getting really excited because Dragonfly is so upscale (for Gville). We had a great dinner. I won't talk about that now, but it was delicious. We were sitting in the patio outside as the sun was setting behind the Hippodrome, and a cool breeze kept us comfortable. Suddenly, that breeze picked up. It wasn't so much a soft chill as an icy smack across the face. We were done eating, so we paid our bill and thanked our good timing. It started raining just as we left the restaurant. We didn't think we'd have time to go to Market Street, so we walked around the corner to 101 downtown for hookah. As we walked, I thought maybe it would happen here. It's a pretty fancy place, too. Unfortunately, they were out of hookah (How do you run out of hookah?), so I told E I didn't mind getting rained on and we wandered out toward Market Street for drinks. I figured E wouldn't propose to me in a bar (or I would be very, very angry) so I started to relax and just have a good time. We had some drinks, watched people do karaoke, and had a great night. Their club side wasn't open, which disappointed me a bit, but I got over it.
After a while, we went back home and I got ready for bed. I must have been imagining things. I get into pajamas and go to bed. As I'm falling asleep, E wakes me up. I'm grumpy and telling him to let me sleep, so he literally drags me to the side of the bed so I sit up.
"Whaaat?" I ask in the most complainy voice I can muster.
I can't remember exactly what was said since I was sleepy and buzzed, but it went something like this.
"You know we've been together for 1,158 days," he said.
"You counted? Wow, that's a long time."
"Yeah, it is. And, you know, I love you and I think we should keep it going."
"I agree."
"So, should we make that official?" he asks and pulls a ring out of nowhere! He told me later that he was so happy to see I was grumpy because that meant I was definitely not expecting it. He did a good job hiding the box, but I was so sleepy I don't think I would've noticed if he had walked over to me balancing it on his head. So, the usual gushy excited stuff ensued and I was very happy. I immediately looked at the clock to see if it was too late to call people, which it was. I think it was between midnight and 1am. It was all very cute and very "us."
So now you know.
Even though we're doing the long engagement thing, I couldn't help myself but to start looking at some locations and gathering ideas. It may turn into business later, but right now it's just fun. I've started making a list of people to invite because I really can't do any kind of planning or budgeting until I know how big this thing is going to be. Luckily, it looks like we may be able to stay under 100 invitees, which would be great. Fiance and I both have pretty small families and a large group of shared friends, so it looks like we'll have about half and half friends and family. Maybe even more friends than family members. Is that weird? Is it common or is it inappropriate to end up with a wedding that has more friends than actual relatives?
If you want the engagement story, here it is:
We begin about a week before it happened. I came home from work and E (my fiance) was at his evening job. I happened to notice a strange FedEx package sitting on the table. Now, we never get FedEx at home. UPS, sure, but not FedEx. In fact, I use FedEx almost exclusively at my job, so seeing this package on my table was like coming home to your work phone and a stapler mysteriously sitting on your bed, waiting for you. "Holy crap, it followed me home!" Needless to say, I walked over to the box cautiously and tipped it a little to see if it was empty. It lifted up pretty easily, and I really didn't want to touch it anymore so I figured it was E's and he had already opened it. Maybe it was the Obama shirt he ordered a while ago.
Anyway, I made dinner and brought it to him at work. When I asked about the package, he definitely gave me the deer-in-headlights look and said, "yeah, I got a package."
After a pause I asked, "...and what was in it?"
"Nothing... books! Books for class." (Keep in mind this was during the last week or so of the semester.)
"Oh, okay."
"But don't look in it, because I bought a book for you, too, and it's a surprise."
"A surprise book?" I asked.
"Yeah, so don't mess with the box."
"When do I get my surprise book?"
And then with a sly smile, "I don't know, I have to wait until the right time."
So, we moved to another topic of conversation and I was pretty suspicious. The next day, we made plans for the weekend and he really wanted to do some walking around downtown, which I am ALWAYS up for. We were planning on parking downtown and then walking around until we saw a place we wanted to eat, then going to Stubbies or Market Street Pub, and perhaps some late-night martinis, apps, and hookah at 101 Downtown. This was a lot of stuff. I thought maybe this was going to turn into a celebration after a possible proposal at dinner, but I was still really cautious with my thoughts since I tend to jump the gun with stuff like this. Once we parked downtown, E started walking in a very specific direction. He wasn't walking towards where all the restaurants and bars are, so he really seemed to have a specific place he wanted to go. Of course, we walk straight over to Dragonfly and he says "Oh, look, Dragonfly! Let's eat there." As if he hadn't planned it. So at this point, I'm getting really excited because Dragonfly is so upscale (for Gville). We had a great dinner. I won't talk about that now, but it was delicious. We were sitting in the patio outside as the sun was setting behind the Hippodrome, and a cool breeze kept us comfortable. Suddenly, that breeze picked up. It wasn't so much a soft chill as an icy smack across the face. We were done eating, so we paid our bill and thanked our good timing. It started raining just as we left the restaurant. We didn't think we'd have time to go to Market Street, so we walked around the corner to 101 downtown for hookah. As we walked, I thought maybe it would happen here. It's a pretty fancy place, too. Unfortunately, they were out of hookah (How do you run out of hookah?), so I told E I didn't mind getting rained on and we wandered out toward Market Street for drinks. I figured E wouldn't propose to me in a bar (or I would be very, very angry) so I started to relax and just have a good time. We had some drinks, watched people do karaoke, and had a great night. Their club side wasn't open, which disappointed me a bit, but I got over it.
After a while, we went back home and I got ready for bed. I must have been imagining things. I get into pajamas and go to bed. As I'm falling asleep, E wakes me up. I'm grumpy and telling him to let me sleep, so he literally drags me to the side of the bed so I sit up.
"Whaaat?" I ask in the most complainy voice I can muster.
I can't remember exactly what was said since I was sleepy and buzzed, but it went something like this.
"You know we've been together for 1,158 days," he said.
"You counted? Wow, that's a long time."
"Yeah, it is. And, you know, I love you and I think we should keep it going."
"I agree."
"So, should we make that official?" he asks and pulls a ring out of nowhere! He told me later that he was so happy to see I was grumpy because that meant I was definitely not expecting it. He did a good job hiding the box, but I was so sleepy I don't think I would've noticed if he had walked over to me balancing it on his head. So, the usual gushy excited stuff ensued and I was very happy. I immediately looked at the clock to see if it was too late to call people, which it was. I think it was between midnight and 1am. It was all very cute and very "us."
So now you know.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Restaurant Review: 101 Downtown
Last Friday was my boyfriend's 22nd birthday, hereafter known as "E." As a (mild) surprise I took him out to 101 Downtown, in downtown Gainesville. I say mild because E likes to know what he's eating in advance, so after he narrowed it down to two restaurants, I let him know which guess was right (his other guess was The Melting Pot, but that was more a place I wanted to go) and sent him to 101gainesville.com to view their menu. On it's website, the restaurant calls itself "fusion" food, but who doesn't? I would call it "upscale comfort" food. For example, you can order a burger there, but it's made from a blend of Kobe beef and Filet Mignon. Needless to say, we were pretty excited.
We started off with glasses of wine for me and beers for a few others in our party. I love beer, but I hear wine will make me live longer and look good while I'm at it. This is why the French have such long lives amid the buttery food and cigarettes. Unfortunately, our waitress seemed new (or something) and told us the wrong specials, so one of my friends left a bit poorer in the pocket. Luckily, birthday boy got his drink comped a few minutes after she paid. But we're here for the food, right? Oh, and it came in all dressed up and ready for prom.
E ordered an impressive appetizer of Florida ceviche with Atlantic Tiger shrimp. It came on beautiful, crisp tortilla chips that were perfect tan, not those pale chips you get as a side to your burrito that can barely hold up to salsa. In the middle was an upside-down wine glass with an orchid and various garnishes inside. It was so pretty. Even better, the orchid was edible! Don't get too excited, they taste just like lettuce. I soon came to realize that an orchid came with almost every dish. It was nice, but to be honest, I'd rather get the $2 to $3 back it must cost to have an orchid on every plate. My starter was the calamaricini, perfectly cooked calamari tossed with garlic, shallots, and pepperoncinis. Pepperoncinis... you know, those green peppers no one will touch that come with your delivery pizza. They are delicious, by the way. Not only was the calamari tender, crispy and tossed with heaven, but it was served with a Thai lime dipping sauce that was to die for. It had a great mix of sweet and tangy to compliment the pepperoncini flavor. Everything was in balance (thankfully, the pepperoncini were sliced thin). A friend had the garlic soup, which he praised but found a bit pricey.
So, we were ready and our palates were primed. On to dinner! Birthday boy ordered the Chilean Sea Bass with mango sauce, and I ordered the scallops. The sea bass was very moist but that is to be expected. Chilean Sea Bass is known for holding up to the roughest of cooking techniques while maintaining a moist interior. The mango flavors were good, but the fish fell flat. Sure, it was moist, but it had almost no flavor itself. He described it as a "previously frozen" flavor. I know, I know. We're smack dab in the middle of the state. Of course it was frozen at some point, but it tasted like it had been frozen for too long. Unfortunately, my scallops suffered from the same fate. They aren't even on the online menu anymore. I must have had the last of them. They were lightly breaded on one side, which added a great texture to the dish, but the breadcrumb flavor completely overshadowed the flavor of the scallops. Honestly, I don't know if the flavor was there to begin with since the dish has been pulled from the menu. It's a sad thing, because I could tell the scallops were cooked very well. This is a quality control issue, not a cooking issue. Another friend had the Lobster Mac 'n' Cheese, which seemed to be a hit, as was the Kobe Blues burger.
As a birthday gift, they brought a slice of vanilla creme brulee cheesecake. It was so creamy, and it had the brulee crust and everything! I'd go back just for the calamaricini and cheesecake. The place is a bit pricey, with apps around $10, pastas around $15, and entrees around $20 to $25. The apps are pretty large, and they definitely topped the entrees. Go there with a couple friends, order some apps, and maybe a slice of cheesecake. Unless you're really craving it, don't bother with an entree. The atmosphere is meh. They look pretty fancy inside, but they call themselves casual. I think they need to get the restaurant and the website in sync. As a side note, they are famous for their martinis, but I didn't get a chance to try one. If I had to guess, I'd say the Panty Dropper martini is probably pretty good.
We started off with glasses of wine for me and beers for a few others in our party. I love beer, but I hear wine will make me live longer and look good while I'm at it. This is why the French have such long lives amid the buttery food and cigarettes. Unfortunately, our waitress seemed new (or something) and told us the wrong specials, so one of my friends left a bit poorer in the pocket. Luckily, birthday boy got his drink comped a few minutes after she paid. But we're here for the food, right? Oh, and it came in all dressed up and ready for prom.
E ordered an impressive appetizer of Florida ceviche with Atlantic Tiger shrimp. It came on beautiful, crisp tortilla chips that were perfect tan, not those pale chips you get as a side to your burrito that can barely hold up to salsa. In the middle was an upside-down wine glass with an orchid and various garnishes inside. It was so pretty. Even better, the orchid was edible! Don't get too excited, they taste just like lettuce. I soon came to realize that an orchid came with almost every dish. It was nice, but to be honest, I'd rather get the $2 to $3 back it must cost to have an orchid on every plate. My starter was the calamaricini, perfectly cooked calamari tossed with garlic, shallots, and pepperoncinis. Pepperoncinis... you know, those green peppers no one will touch that come with your delivery pizza. They are delicious, by the way. Not only was the calamari tender, crispy and tossed with heaven, but it was served with a Thai lime dipping sauce that was to die for. It had a great mix of sweet and tangy to compliment the pepperoncini flavor. Everything was in balance (thankfully, the pepperoncini were sliced thin). A friend had the garlic soup, which he praised but found a bit pricey.
So, we were ready and our palates were primed. On to dinner! Birthday boy ordered the Chilean Sea Bass with mango sauce, and I ordered the scallops. The sea bass was very moist but that is to be expected. Chilean Sea Bass is known for holding up to the roughest of cooking techniques while maintaining a moist interior. The mango flavors were good, but the fish fell flat. Sure, it was moist, but it had almost no flavor itself. He described it as a "previously frozen" flavor. I know, I know. We're smack dab in the middle of the state. Of course it was frozen at some point, but it tasted like it had been frozen for too long. Unfortunately, my scallops suffered from the same fate. They aren't even on the online menu anymore. I must have had the last of them. They were lightly breaded on one side, which added a great texture to the dish, but the breadcrumb flavor completely overshadowed the flavor of the scallops. Honestly, I don't know if the flavor was there to begin with since the dish has been pulled from the menu. It's a sad thing, because I could tell the scallops were cooked very well. This is a quality control issue, not a cooking issue. Another friend had the Lobster Mac 'n' Cheese, which seemed to be a hit, as was the Kobe Blues burger.
As a birthday gift, they brought a slice of vanilla creme brulee cheesecake. It was so creamy, and it had the brulee crust and everything! I'd go back just for the calamaricini and cheesecake. The place is a bit pricey, with apps around $10, pastas around $15, and entrees around $20 to $25. The apps are pretty large, and they definitely topped the entrees. Go there with a couple friends, order some apps, and maybe a slice of cheesecake. Unless you're really craving it, don't bother with an entree. The atmosphere is meh. They look pretty fancy inside, but they call themselves casual. I think they need to get the restaurant and the website in sync. As a side note, they are famous for their martinis, but I didn't get a chance to try one. If I had to guess, I'd say the Panty Dropper martini is probably pretty good.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
A Unique Opportunity... The Pre-premiere of College:The Musical
Last night I was given the great chance to see a pre-premiere of the world's first complete production of College: The Musical in Gainesville's very own Hippodrome Theater. The play is set to open Friday, June 6th, and will run throughout the summer. Anyone in town should go see it.
The play opens with a hilarious song and a great first line, and the laughs keep going from there. Featuring such hysterical songs as "Alcohollelujah" and "Good Enough for Now," College: The Musical is entertaining enough for any college student or recent grad, and true enough for the more seasoned crowd. The actor/singers are amazing, and I was particularly impressed by the voice of the actress playing Agnes (such high notes!). There are plenty of the expected jokes revolving around dorm life and the party lifestyle, but a good amount of revealing moments and realizations surface throughout. The second half runs the risk of becoming a bit too preachy and obvious about the downfalls of the alcohol-fueled 18-21 year old, but with a little tweaking, the audience will get the point without it being beat into them. Beside this, the directing was great and the way actors moved and danced around the stage and props was exciting and flawless.
Oh, and remember "that guy" in college? You know, that guy? Well, every single actor in this play portrays the definitive that guy or that girl. There's the party master, the studious one, the FRESHMAN, that annoying couple, the promiscuous girl, and a few more that will seem all to familiar. Audience interaction has it's place here, too. Jello shots are passed out at one point, and plenty of people in the front row will get a nice creepy stare from the actors near the end. Make sure you grab a drink at the bar before the show, for solidarity's sake!
Special thanks to my friend Kate for the recommendation and company. College: The Musical is written by Drew Fornarola and Scott Elmegreen. The Hippodrome production is directed by Lauren Caldwell.
The play opens with a hilarious song and a great first line, and the laughs keep going from there. Featuring such hysterical songs as "Alcohollelujah" and "Good Enough for Now," College: The Musical is entertaining enough for any college student or recent grad, and true enough for the more seasoned crowd. The actor/singers are amazing, and I was particularly impressed by the voice of the actress playing Agnes (such high notes!). There are plenty of the expected jokes revolving around dorm life and the party lifestyle, but a good amount of revealing moments and realizations surface throughout. The second half runs the risk of becoming a bit too preachy and obvious about the downfalls of the alcohol-fueled 18-21 year old, but with a little tweaking, the audience will get the point without it being beat into them. Beside this, the directing was great and the way actors moved and danced around the stage and props was exciting and flawless.
Oh, and remember "that guy" in college? You know, that guy? Well, every single actor in this play portrays the definitive that guy or that girl. There's the party master, the studious one, the FRESHMAN, that annoying couple, the promiscuous girl, and a few more that will seem all to familiar. Audience interaction has it's place here, too. Jello shots are passed out at one point, and plenty of people in the front row will get a nice creepy stare from the actors near the end. Make sure you grab a drink at the bar before the show, for solidarity's sake!
Special thanks to my friend Kate for the recommendation and company. College: The Musical is written by Drew Fornarola and Scott Elmegreen. The Hippodrome production is directed by Lauren Caldwell.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Review: The Memory Keeper's Daughter by Kim Edwards
I read this book quite a while ago, and here is the review. Keep in mind, I tend to review the author/editors as much as I review the book itself. It's a bit of a curse as a working editor.
I'll start by saying that while this is a great story, it is not a particularly good book. I'm surprised to find out this wasn't Kim Edwards' first novel. She writes as a novice would, with seemingly no proofreading or editing. She is repetitive and does way too much telling and not enough showing.
I marked several grammatical errors that I suppose I can't blame Edwards for, but if I were writing a novel and submitting it for publication I would do some proofreading myself. I did, however, catch plenty of gold flecks of imagery. Unfortunately, they were confined to single sentences ending paragraphs or chapters included for the purpose of producing an effect.
I cant say how many times she described the characters as "removed" like a "random spectator," "floating elsewhere, observing." I actually had to write "OK, we get it" in the margin by page 18 to feel better. Edwards also seemed not to know what emotions she wanted to portray. On page 94, she describes Caroline as "fierce, protective, touch[ing] [Phoebe's] cheek so gently." I had no idea a gentle touch could express such animal instincts.
She also should have done some research for facts she describes in her book. On page 111, one of her characters, a learned doctor, claims the crystals in a geode are created by water from ancient seas getting trapped inside. They're actually mineral deposits left behind. About halfway through the book, the story begins to improve and take root with more realistic and less predictable issues.
As a side note, Edwards seems to have trouble choosing good names. At one point, she actually names a character Miss Throckmorton. How distracting is that?
One does have to wonder if an average person would be as distraught as Norah is after so many years. After all, the baby "died" the same moment Norah learned of her existence. I don't mean to undermine the life of a child and a mother's love for it, but she never moves on. That moment dictates and ruins the rest of her life. Although I see how wrong what David did was, I can't help but consider Norah the "bad guy." After thinking about it once you're done reading the book, it's clear that they all share blame for the way their lives turned out. None of them can seem to let go of anything and they're all entirely self-centered. It may have been a result of their upbringing, at least for Norah and Paul. Paul may be blameless simply because it was the only way he saw his parents live.
Page 303- Is "citified" a word?
Some phrases that stood out to me:
Page 209- "Then the train was rushing between them; there was the roar and silence, roar and silence, of the passing cars. He glimpsed Duke in flashes, like photographs hanging in his father's darkroom, all those moments from his father's life like glimpses from a train. Trapped and caught. Rush and silence. Like this."
Page 338- "...above the sound of the river, the smell of its dark banks, the stars roaring everywhere, swirling, alive.
This story had so many missed chances, missed opportunities to talk and mend, missed moments to share with a loved one. It certainly makes me be wary of doing that myself. An interesting note: Phoebe's mind is the only main one we don't enter as a reader. Perhaps it served to keep us equal to the characters in what we know about her and her condition. The point seems to be that Phoebe represents the only thing the family had been missing in their lives- unconditional love.
I would buy this book from the sales pile or borrow from a friend.
I'll start by saying that while this is a great story, it is not a particularly good book. I'm surprised to find out this wasn't Kim Edwards' first novel. She writes as a novice would, with seemingly no proofreading or editing. She is repetitive and does way too much telling and not enough showing.
I marked several grammatical errors that I suppose I can't blame Edwards for, but if I were writing a novel and submitting it for publication I would do some proofreading myself. I did, however, catch plenty of gold flecks of imagery. Unfortunately, they were confined to single sentences ending paragraphs or chapters included for the purpose of producing an effect.
I cant say how many times she described the characters as "removed" like a "random spectator," "floating elsewhere, observing." I actually had to write "OK, we get it" in the margin by page 18 to feel better. Edwards also seemed not to know what emotions she wanted to portray. On page 94, she describes Caroline as "fierce, protective, touch[ing] [Phoebe's] cheek so gently." I had no idea a gentle touch could express such animal instincts.
She also should have done some research for facts she describes in her book. On page 111, one of her characters, a learned doctor, claims the crystals in a geode are created by water from ancient seas getting trapped inside. They're actually mineral deposits left behind. About halfway through the book, the story begins to improve and take root with more realistic and less predictable issues.
As a side note, Edwards seems to have trouble choosing good names. At one point, she actually names a character Miss Throckmorton. How distracting is that?
One does have to wonder if an average person would be as distraught as Norah is after so many years. After all, the baby "died" the same moment Norah learned of her existence. I don't mean to undermine the life of a child and a mother's love for it, but she never moves on. That moment dictates and ruins the rest of her life. Although I see how wrong what David did was, I can't help but consider Norah the "bad guy." After thinking about it once you're done reading the book, it's clear that they all share blame for the way their lives turned out. None of them can seem to let go of anything and they're all entirely self-centered. It may have been a result of their upbringing, at least for Norah and Paul. Paul may be blameless simply because it was the only way he saw his parents live.
Page 303- Is "citified" a word?
Some phrases that stood out to me:
Page 209- "Then the train was rushing between them; there was the roar and silence, roar and silence, of the passing cars. He glimpsed Duke in flashes, like photographs hanging in his father's darkroom, all those moments from his father's life like glimpses from a train. Trapped and caught. Rush and silence. Like this."
Page 338- "...above the sound of the river, the smell of its dark banks, the stars roaring everywhere, swirling, alive.
This story had so many missed chances, missed opportunities to talk and mend, missed moments to share with a loved one. It certainly makes me be wary of doing that myself. An interesting note: Phoebe's mind is the only main one we don't enter as a reader. Perhaps it served to keep us equal to the characters in what we know about her and her condition. The point seems to be that Phoebe represents the only thing the family had been missing in their lives- unconditional love.
I would buy this book from the sales pile or borrow from a friend.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
The Dead Poets
I have just seen Dead Poet's Society for the first time. This means all the other English majors of the world had the permission to scoff at me on a whim up until last night. If you're interested in teaching, poetry, or acting, you should probably see this movie. Mr. Keating definitely brought back some fond memories for me.
The two greatest English teachers I have had each had a bit of Keating in them. One was in high school and the other in college. Mr. Ford (high school) was as romantic as Mr. Keating was. He saw the world through rose-colored glasses, without being blind to the darkness. Professor Shoaf (in college) had that interesting teaching style, seemingly obsessed with the way words of love could change (or distort) perception and vice-versa. People could distort love just as, or more, easily through the use of words. He taught me Chaucer and Shakespeare. I never loved Shakespeare until that class, and Chaucer took on so much more meaning than he ever had before. In high school, Chaucer was a bawdy poet making social commentary. With Shoaf, Chaucer was a bawdy genius who wrote multiple meanings into single words and paved the way for the future Shakespeares, and when read in Middle English, he was beautiful to boot. Although Shoaf didn't literally stand on tables to see the world in a different light, we basically learned the same concept. Ford was my introduction into the world of multiple meanings. It wasn't until then that I learned to look at each word in a poem more carefully than the poem as a whole. Shoaf brought that idea home and taught us how to use it.
I'll have to take my Chaucer and Shakespeare tomes out and bring myself back up to speed. Maybe I'll reconsider that Ph.D. and professorship in a decade or two.
The two greatest English teachers I have had each had a bit of Keating in them. One was in high school and the other in college. Mr. Ford (high school) was as romantic as Mr. Keating was. He saw the world through rose-colored glasses, without being blind to the darkness. Professor Shoaf (in college) had that interesting teaching style, seemingly obsessed with the way words of love could change (or distort) perception and vice-versa. People could distort love just as, or more, easily through the use of words. He taught me Chaucer and Shakespeare. I never loved Shakespeare until that class, and Chaucer took on so much more meaning than he ever had before. In high school, Chaucer was a bawdy poet making social commentary. With Shoaf, Chaucer was a bawdy genius who wrote multiple meanings into single words and paved the way for the future Shakespeares, and when read in Middle English, he was beautiful to boot. Although Shoaf didn't literally stand on tables to see the world in a different light, we basically learned the same concept. Ford was my introduction into the world of multiple meanings. It wasn't until then that I learned to look at each word in a poem more carefully than the poem as a whole. Shoaf brought that idea home and taught us how to use it.
I'll have to take my Chaucer and Shakespeare tomes out and bring myself back up to speed. Maybe I'll reconsider that Ph.D. and professorship in a decade or two.
Monday, April 14, 2008
IDK, my BFF...?
Lately I've had about 5 friends get engaged or married, and have seen some other friends react in a rather surprising "why not me?" fashion. I've just been happy for my friends and their new-found commitments. However, in the last few weeks I've really started to let it sink in, and I've felt the "why not me?" sensation, just not in the usual sense. I'm not sad that I'm not married. I'm happy with my relationship status where it is. What has made me feel mildly depressed is all the wonderful photos of bride's maids having parties, brides calling upon their closest friends to stand by them on such a great and life-altering day. Then there is the dreaded word that I have found fuels my general malaise: Maid of Honor.
After racking my brain, I can't think of a single person who I could ask to be my maid of honor. At least, not one who wouldn't be completely confused and wonder why I don't have any closer friends. Sure, it would be an honor to even be asked to be a maid of honor, but there's no one in my life I can think of who would already know they'd be it before I even asked. Now, I'm not writing this so people can feel sorry for me, or say "oooh, I'll be your maid of honor, dear". That's not what I'm looking for. You've heard of "Always the bride's maid, never the bride?" What about the countless girls out there who are always the bride's maid, never the maid of honor? What about those of us who have so many friends, but not one person who we can call our best friend, and who calls us that back. I've been the perpetual third wheel, not to a couple, but to a pair of best friends. I wouldn't trade in my friendships for the world, but where does the line rest that keeps me from crossing that threshold into best-frienddom?
Sure, there have been people I've called my best friend throughout life. Plenty in elementary school that I called mine, but didn't call me theirs. It sounds awkward, but, somehow, it worked out. I got what I needed out of them, they got what they wanted out of me. I had a real best friend in middle school, but that was short-lived before our differing personalities slowly, but kindly, drifted apart. Then there was one throughout high school. She really was a best friend for 4 years. We were a pair, attached at the hip. We called each other old ladies in teenaged bodies, old souls with an instant connection. It wasn't long after we began college that we started to grow apart. We were just spending too much time together, and not letting each other grow into our own, a process I saw coming but she didn't. This one ended in the biggest blow-up and worst day of my life. I had hoped we would find each other again some day, when she realized what had happened was a petty fight that has to happen in every close relationship and not anyone's fault, but that never happened. We haven't spoken to this day, and it makes me a little sad each time I see "best friends forever" posted anywhere or written on a teenager's notebook, or hanging off their neck. It is especially so when I see these connections later on in life, watching women share milestones with each other.
What is it that keeps some of us from making this connection again... or at all? When I get married, who will be my maid of honor? In all honesty, I probably won't have one. Just a string of bride's maids, all loved, but none loving me back as much as that one position denotes. How do we make room for those without a pair, or third, as many best friendlets tend to take form. Can society make it "okay" for a girl to have a pool of light friendships? It should, but it's not what I want. What I want is to pass that damn threshold I can't find.
It isn't really much of a surprise, considering that I'm awful at keeping touch with people after they move away. I'm trying my best to actually make an effort now, I know it's been my own fault in the last couple of years. I let myself fall into a comfort zone. I let myself forget that if you don't throw yourself out there, there's nothing to gain. I let myself think I was getting old and awkward for the circle of friends I have, most of them a few years younger than I and still in college, while I'm in that boring wormhole of the working world. I now find myself trying to dig my way out, but very few chances to get close to someone remain. I still have a good group, a lot of them male. Unfortunately, it's kind of necessary to divulge secrets and inner thoughts to get closer to a friend, and I don't feel comfortable doing that. I've seen it cause a lot of trouble in recent years, and it scares me. If you tell your best friend that someone hurt you, it may hurt your best friend even more. They may not forgive that person even after you have. A disconnect. What if they see me differently? I find it a bit easier to reveal these thoughts to men than women, mostly because I can put it under the guise of complaining or bitching, which I find more accepted among them, oddly enough.
So, maybe some of us have always been on the bride's maid track, trying so hard to jump off and reach the maid of honor's coveted spot. Am I bound to have lots of friends, and not a best one, just like I'm good at lots of things but not great at a single one? Maybe those like me have to learn it's acceptable. Or maybe we need to learn to let go, jump in, and see if there's another best-friendless girl still out there looking for us.
After racking my brain, I can't think of a single person who I could ask to be my maid of honor. At least, not one who wouldn't be completely confused and wonder why I don't have any closer friends. Sure, it would be an honor to even be asked to be a maid of honor, but there's no one in my life I can think of who would already know they'd be it before I even asked. Now, I'm not writing this so people can feel sorry for me, or say "oooh, I'll be your maid of honor, dear". That's not what I'm looking for. You've heard of "Always the bride's maid, never the bride?" What about the countless girls out there who are always the bride's maid, never the maid of honor? What about those of us who have so many friends, but not one person who we can call our best friend, and who calls us that back. I've been the perpetual third wheel, not to a couple, but to a pair of best friends. I wouldn't trade in my friendships for the world, but where does the line rest that keeps me from crossing that threshold into best-frienddom?
Sure, there have been people I've called my best friend throughout life. Plenty in elementary school that I called mine, but didn't call me theirs. It sounds awkward, but, somehow, it worked out. I got what I needed out of them, they got what they wanted out of me. I had a real best friend in middle school, but that was short-lived before our differing personalities slowly, but kindly, drifted apart. Then there was one throughout high school. She really was a best friend for 4 years. We were a pair, attached at the hip. We called each other old ladies in teenaged bodies, old souls with an instant connection. It wasn't long after we began college that we started to grow apart. We were just spending too much time together, and not letting each other grow into our own, a process I saw coming but she didn't. This one ended in the biggest blow-up and worst day of my life. I had hoped we would find each other again some day, when she realized what had happened was a petty fight that has to happen in every close relationship and not anyone's fault, but that never happened. We haven't spoken to this day, and it makes me a little sad each time I see "best friends forever" posted anywhere or written on a teenager's notebook, or hanging off their neck. It is especially so when I see these connections later on in life, watching women share milestones with each other.
What is it that keeps some of us from making this connection again... or at all? When I get married, who will be my maid of honor? In all honesty, I probably won't have one. Just a string of bride's maids, all loved, but none loving me back as much as that one position denotes. How do we make room for those without a pair, or third, as many best friendlets tend to take form. Can society make it "okay" for a girl to have a pool of light friendships? It should, but it's not what I want. What I want is to pass that damn threshold I can't find.
It isn't really much of a surprise, considering that I'm awful at keeping touch with people after they move away. I'm trying my best to actually make an effort now, I know it's been my own fault in the last couple of years. I let myself fall into a comfort zone. I let myself forget that if you don't throw yourself out there, there's nothing to gain. I let myself think I was getting old and awkward for the circle of friends I have, most of them a few years younger than I and still in college, while I'm in that boring wormhole of the working world. I now find myself trying to dig my way out, but very few chances to get close to someone remain. I still have a good group, a lot of them male. Unfortunately, it's kind of necessary to divulge secrets and inner thoughts to get closer to a friend, and I don't feel comfortable doing that. I've seen it cause a lot of trouble in recent years, and it scares me. If you tell your best friend that someone hurt you, it may hurt your best friend even more. They may not forgive that person even after you have. A disconnect. What if they see me differently? I find it a bit easier to reveal these thoughts to men than women, mostly because I can put it under the guise of complaining or bitching, which I find more accepted among them, oddly enough.
So, maybe some of us have always been on the bride's maid track, trying so hard to jump off and reach the maid of honor's coveted spot. Am I bound to have lots of friends, and not a best one, just like I'm good at lots of things but not great at a single one? Maybe those like me have to learn it's acceptable. Or maybe we need to learn to let go, jump in, and see if there's another best-friendless girl still out there looking for us.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Means and Ends
How selfish must I be to start my own blog? I mean, really. Do I have any proven writing skill? Barely. Do I have anything interesting to say? How dare I. How dare anyone with a blog have the balls to publish their thoughts all willy-nilly. Yes, I said it. Willy-nilly, damn it. Well, it's too late now, isn't it? Every Tom, Dick, and Harry (sure, Jane, too) with internet access has a blog, this monstrosity of a public diary.
Right?
It took me a long time to finally decide to start a blog. Blogs have become so popular and easy that they gained and lost their mystique in my eyes within a span of 5 years. It wasn't until I saw a number of intelligent and useful food blogs that I decided it was okay to make my own. It's okay to join this growing mass of people who say, "Yes, my thoughts are unique and meaningful, and you should hear them." Or, well, read them. Over time, I came across plenty that provide help and community support for new mothers, troubled teens, the childless, the child-free, those distraught by loss, disease, or disability, and then some. This started the hamster wheels spinning (the hamster's name being Sugar, and she's adorable), and infinite other possibilities for my blog surfaced. My first thoughts being, of course, self-centered. I can further my artistic career, work on writing skills, get honest opinions about my editorial ability, share book reviews, recipes, fuss about life, entertain my friends, and... BREATHE! Whoo. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.
Yes, the blog has become an ultimate form of expression, the Web 2.0 version of the telephone and my best friends on 3-way calling. Blogs can do anything, and I thought, "I should get in on this."
So, why now? Why decide to make a blog long after it had amazed me with its potential? Simple. I couldn't think of a name... Sad, I know. Don't tell my friends. Honestly, though, it seemed every time I got a decent idea, someone already had it. Even worse, these people either didn't have a single post on their blog or hadn't posted in at least 3 years! How do you just take up valuable blog titles like that? Such waste! Once I thought of a decently catchy, memorable name, I snatched it up before the others could. "The others" being people who apparently sign up every good blog name they can think of and then refuse to write in them, or write gibberish like, "Hey, a blog! How do I work this thing?" Well, I might just be writing a glorified version of that.
What it all boils down to is a blog written by someone who is pretty good at a lot of things, but not really, amazingly great at any one thing. I expect I'll touch all sorts of topics, but I can't really say for sure. Food, restaurants, book reviews, my friends, my art, the newsworthy and the not-so-newsworthy will have a place here. My art pieces will even be up for grabs... mostly. Hopefully, this little spark catches on and I can feel satisfied that I have done my job as a blogging citizen.
Feel free to comment all over my blog. I want and need it. Comment the hell out of it, just don't be too nasty. Other people do have to read those comments. Email me if you want to be really nasty. If you don't know my personal email, then you probably shouldn't be so nasty to strangers. Also, please don't use anything here (writing, photos, whatever) without my permission or at least a shout out to this web page. Give me credit for what meager droplets get squeezed out in the process. Enjoy.
Right?
It took me a long time to finally decide to start a blog. Blogs have become so popular and easy that they gained and lost their mystique in my eyes within a span of 5 years. It wasn't until I saw a number of intelligent and useful food blogs that I decided it was okay to make my own. It's okay to join this growing mass of people who say, "Yes, my thoughts are unique and meaningful, and you should hear them." Or, well, read them. Over time, I came across plenty that provide help and community support for new mothers, troubled teens, the childless, the child-free, those distraught by loss, disease, or disability, and then some. This started the hamster wheels spinning (the hamster's name being Sugar, and she's adorable), and infinite other possibilities for my blog surfaced. My first thoughts being, of course, self-centered. I can further my artistic career, work on writing skills, get honest opinions about my editorial ability, share book reviews, recipes, fuss about life, entertain my friends, and... BREATHE! Whoo. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.
Yes, the blog has become an ultimate form of expression, the Web 2.0 version of the telephone and my best friends on 3-way calling. Blogs can do anything, and I thought, "I should get in on this."
So, why now? Why decide to make a blog long after it had amazed me with its potential? Simple. I couldn't think of a name... Sad, I know. Don't tell my friends. Honestly, though, it seemed every time I got a decent idea, someone already had it. Even worse, these people either didn't have a single post on their blog or hadn't posted in at least 3 years! How do you just take up valuable blog titles like that? Such waste! Once I thought of a decently catchy, memorable name, I snatched it up before the others could. "The others" being people who apparently sign up every good blog name they can think of and then refuse to write in them, or write gibberish like, "Hey, a blog! How do I work this thing?" Well, I might just be writing a glorified version of that.
What it all boils down to is a blog written by someone who is pretty good at a lot of things, but not really, amazingly great at any one thing. I expect I'll touch all sorts of topics, but I can't really say for sure. Food, restaurants, book reviews, my friends, my art, the newsworthy and the not-so-newsworthy will have a place here. My art pieces will even be up for grabs... mostly. Hopefully, this little spark catches on and I can feel satisfied that I have done my job as a blogging citizen.
Feel free to comment all over my blog. I want and need it. Comment the hell out of it, just don't be too nasty. Other people do have to read those comments. Email me if you want to be really nasty. If you don't know my personal email, then you probably shouldn't be so nasty to strangers. Also, please don't use anything here (writing, photos, whatever) without my permission or at least a shout out to this web page. Give me credit for what meager droplets get squeezed out in the process. Enjoy.
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