The drugs don't work

The sun's gone dim, the moon's turned black; for I loved him and he didn't love back.

Whole Foods Riot!

Not really (obviously). The computer system went down at a packed P Street Whole Foods tonight and, despite lines reaching the ends of long aisles, the well-groomed, pram-pushing, yoga mat-toting customers just sighed, avoided eye contact with anyone and paged through Body + Soul. Except for the lady in front of me, of course, who had to baby-talk to her infant son for twenty solid minutes. The system was only down for ten minutes - the extra ten was for the lady in front of her, who chose to pay with a check. I felt really bad for the poor kid ringing us up, who was a trainee and clearly having a minor breakdown by the time I got to him.

Skin deep

For want of anything better, this morning I read Marie Claire at the gym. When I was eleven and living in Canada I had to sell magazine subscriptions for a school fundraiser, and one of them was Marie Claire. I don't think it had broken the American market yet. So I sort of had this weird soft spot for it. Not any more.

It's awful! I know I shouldn't pick on MC over Glamour, Vogue, Bazaar, Elle and my personal pet hate, Allure, but I'm going to anyway, because aside from Glamour I won't even pick any of the others up anymore, and now MC joins those ranks. (Glamour is still okay because somehow they are able to combine interesting serious stories and health advice with hair and makeup tips. I know that's what the others are trying for - except for Bazaar, which has stopped trying to use words altogether - but the rest of them fail.)

In this month's issue, focused on holiday makeup, hair and clothes, the makeover of the month was for this girl who had recently lost 40 pounds and didn't know how to dress as her new skinny self. I expected to see some nice form-fitting jeans, pants, tops and dresses, in order to allow her to show off her new looks more confidently. Instead they dressed her as though she had never lost any weight. This girl was maybe a size 8 and they were dressing her like she was still 40 pounds heavier, in sack dresses (that are 'so forgiving'), high-waisted pants (I know they're in right now but they are wildly unflattering on short women, and if you have newly thin legs why not showcase them?) and empire-waisted skirts (ditto for the newly slender midsection). Nothing flattered her, she looked better in the boring top and bootleg jeans she wore to the meeting, and I was sad that a magazine allowed itself to follow ugly trends rather than something that might actually make the girl feel good and stylish.


Moving on to holiday hairstyles, I've noticed recently that lots of stylists are recommending 'texturising' sprays and cremes - one even said that the 'secret' to Kate Moss's bedhead is hard London water. I've lived in London, and it's true: my hair does feel less smooth and soft there. But why do you want that? What is wrong with shiny clean soft hair? I agree that the Europeans have it right in not washing their hair all the time - it does dry it out, and removes good oils from your scalp. But I have naturally shiny hair, and I work out every day (and perspire while doing so), so I have to wash it daily. And for the most part, it looks good. When I live in England I am always one of the larger-sized women (I'm a size 10 here, which is a 12 there, which is considered plus-sized), but I know that I at least look healthy, because I don't smoke, have clear skin (usually), and shiny hair. English people have sort of mocked my hair, skin and (unstraightened, unbleached) teeth as being 'Shiny Happy American,' but I think that that is something to celebrate (and normally I can't find too many reasons to celebrate my nationality). I know some very attractive English people - but their attractiveness is much different from that of a fresh-faced North American.

We have this great thing about us here on this continent - we are descended from many different ethnic groups, we generally have access to soft water, clean air and good wholesome food (harder to find in some parts than others). Those of us who bother to take care of ourselves are healthy - why not look it? Why aim for the Amy Winehouse teased-hair, ruined eye makeup, starving on-the-way-to-rehab look? Why look like we never sleep or shower and smoke a pack a day when we spend our time trying to sleep and cleanse more and better and smoke less? I know the Europeans look romantic and mysterious a little bit tired and dirty - but it's not because they're dirty, it's because they've got a thousand years of culture and tradition and genetics providing them with that knowingness and allure. We've got a couple hundred years of nothing coherent, a jumble of genes from people who liked to try new things or they never would have gotten here, and who must have been healthy because they never would have survived here. We should be playing this up, and women's magazines should not be telling us to try to look like something else.

So when MC and the other women's publications take nice shiny hair and tease and spray and 'texturise' it to the point where it looks more like a topiary than a hairstyle, it makes me sad. And instead of advocating a healthier lifestyle (I guess that's for a different sector of magazine to address- and there are more than enough of those as well, but no fear, I won't bore you with my thoughts on them...today), there are pages and pages of makeup recommendations. I know a lot of women; some of them even live in Manhattan, although admittedly none work in fashion. But of these women, none of them wear makeup the way it is presented in these magazines, and presented in such a way as to give the impression that all of the publication's staffers, all of their friends and anyone else who matters also participates in this daily masking ritual. I have never worn any makeup apart from concealer, lip gloss and nail polish (I wear contacts and all eye makeup leaves me with an eye infection), and neither have many of my friends or female family members, with the result that when someone is visibly made up I find myself focusing more on their makeup than on their face, which seems unfortunate.

I get that I will eventually have to figure some of this stuff out, or just learn to ignore it. I'm 32, my skin's already fading (in spite of the care I take of it), and grey hair is not as shiny as brown. I need to understand that there are no women's magazines for me; they are either aimed at women younger than I am or at women more interested at looking like someone they are not. I need a publication that focuses on how to become more comfortable with one's inside self, in order to feel more at ease and project not just the glow of physical health, but of acceptance and unconditional love. Because nothing's more beautiful than that.

Does that make sense?

This is a favorite phrase of all of my coworkers. As I am the low person on the proverbial pole, I'm always getting directives issued from above, which are always followed by 'does that make sense?' or some derivative thereof. I don't know whether to interpret the preponderance of disbelief in one's own ability to make sense around here as a result of the fact that no one else in the organization ever makes sense, or a result of the general stupidity of everything we have to do clouding the brain.

But if I find myself starting to say it, I'll know there's a problem. I ALWAYS make sense.

One more word about the Pats and then

I'll let it lie. It turns out that the on-field electronic communication system between the QB and the coach wasn't working, which goes at least a short way toward explaining why Brady looked sort of bewildered for the first part of the game.

I just read in my favorite non-East Coast-centric blog, NewMexiken, that yesterday was the 69th anniversary of Kristallnacht, which was the night the Holocaust officially began. Just thinking about it gives me the shivers.

I take it back!

Well not all of it because it wasn't the game I was hoping for, and I stand by my original comments, but THE PATS WON. 9-0 BABY!

the Patriots are killing me

My head feels like it's about to explode; I can't imagine how Belichik feels. Watching these players turn into bewildered, sniveling children when faced with one decent opponent is embarrassing. Man up! Willy Andrews continuing to hold his mark after they'd gone out of bounds was shameful.

Also shameful has been the officiating. I want the Pats to win, naturally, but I am so disappointed in this game overall. Everyone was looking forward to it all week, and while it's at least been a close one, it really hasn't lived up to its potential at all.

The only light at the end of the tunnel for me right now (aside from the Pats scoring again in the next 8 minutes and stopping Indy from doing so - kind of unlikely) is the knowledge that On Demand is finally featuring Friday Night Lights. Better late than never, guys!

Everything old is new again

This morning's VH1 Top Twenty Countdown has (to my distracted knowledge, since I've also been hitting refresh on the Arsenal-Man Utd match) featured three generations' poster boys: the Eagles, Bon Jovi and the Backstreet Boys. Since not one of their latest singles remotely measures up to what might be considered their best, I have to wonder why they insist on carrying on. They've all made more than enough money, and while some band members may have drug or gambling debts to pay off, even they can't be too hard up, so long as they were intelligent about residual rights to their music. I guess it just makes me sad that they can't find anything else to do with their time than to continuously try to relive past glories. I want everyone to live up to whatever potential they possess at that point in time, and these guys just aren't hiting the highest notes (pun sort of intended, I guess) available to them at this moment.

Also: BRITNEY: GO AWAY

Pharmaceuticals

Since I'd heretofore only ever had prescriptions to nasal spray and birth control, I wasn't sure what to expect from my new mood stabilizer. So far, though, nothing: my mood swings eternal. But at least I don't yet have the killer (seriously: it's apparently deadly) rash all the information warns me about!
On the upside, my recent mood swinging has granted me more compassion with regard to the antics of my middle and high school frenemy. Given the contrast between her more recent comportment and the way in which she behaved back then, I have been led to believe that she might be on lithium, which would mean that she was bipolar when she was doing all of those mean things. If that's the case, I'm no longer mad. It must have been so frightening to feel that way and not know what was going on.

WATCH FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS

if you do, it might stay on the air for the rest of the year. of course, it might also encourage the network to continue with the crappy storylines it currently enforces.

Two months in and

I already can't stand my job. It's both pointless and thankless, and a terrible fit on top of it all. Luckily, no one else I work with likes their job any more than I do. Unluckily, we have performance reviews coming up in which I am pretty sure my bad attitude will be a topic of conversation, and I am afraid I will not be able to stop myself from saying that I am so negative because I care about my job so little, aside from the medical benefits, that I actually resent going there because it takes away from time I could spend working out. Or eating. Or Sleeping. sadly, without the job I would not be able to afford to do two out of the last three things.

Antidepressants: the next and possibly final frontier.

London! Yay!

My friend just gave me the best news. Better than the news that he is getting married, this news makes me not just happy but grateful. He's getting married in a London bar. Flights to England cost $800, regardless of the time of year (I would like some answers for why taxes on international flights are 100% of the ticket price), so an English wedding normally costs an American visitor the price of the flight, a train ride to some country location, a hotel room for two nights, and the necessity of a friend to drive her around. A wedding in London means that an American visitor can stay with mutual friends in London, and everyone can take a cab to the venue, drink loads and not have to worry about driving home. I love my friend for making this decision and implore all of my friends, in London and otherwise, to make such decisions from now on. Don't get married in Vergennes, Vermont; Tarrytown, New York; or Saco, Maine (beautiful, moving weddings all). Get married in a bar in New York or a restaurant in Boston or a lounge in Washington, where everyone has at least one friend or relative to stay with for free and can take a cab or even a subway to the event and back. Please. As a wedding-poor, perennially single, carless urban dweller I BEG YOU.

To drug or not to drug

Until now I've avoided anti-depressants, because I thought I could just deal with my general dislike of human life, my own included. But it's becoming more and more obvious to me that I can't. I do all of the things I am supposed to - work out, drink lots of water, drink green tea, eat fish and flax, get sunshine, volunteer, do tai chi, lay off the alcohol and caffeine. The only things I do look forward to are my meals, and especially my desserts, and I am not giving up my last real vice. While I'm sure I would feel worse if I didn't take care of myself in these ways, I still find it hard to think about anything I like or look forward to. I choose to not see people or make new friends. I think that this is not normal in someone my age who has not had a recent traumatic event.

So. Drugs. They might take away what makes me me. But that's why psychotics don't take their meds, so I guess we'll see.

Love it or Leave It

God grant me the serenity to accept the fact that I am from Boston, courage to change the things that make me feel so awful when I think about it, and the wisdom to know the difference between realistic perspective and irrational hatred.

It's 7pm on a Friday and I'm drunk on cheap white wine

And totally in love with Sam Elliott in Road House.

Rings and Things

I've gotten lots of news from London this week. One friend's wife had a baby, then I checked another's blog to see if anything was new with him and that's how I found out he'd asked his girlfriend to marry him...and then this morning I get word that two more friends are headed toward wedded bliss (together). This is all happy news, but the happiest of all is that there is no way I will miss either of these weddings, so I now have two iron-clad reasons to visit England next year! And I can't wait.

Can equally exciting things happen to someone who doesn't want to get married or have children? I've decided to be hopeful and believe that it can still be done.

Goin to the Chapel

Tonight I'm picking up a rental at Union Station, only the worst neighborhood in the city to navigate, and taking one of the most horrific traffic routes (New York Avenue you make me want to die) out of DC up to Main Line Philly. I should get there sometime after ten, far too late to engage in any rehearsal dinner activities, and immediately crash into bed. Tomorrow my friend's Western wedding service is at noon, and then there will be a yummy lunch, followed by an Indian ceremony at 2. The bride got me to agree to make this journey (which will cost far more than I can afford, having been recently unemployed for so long) by giving me a menu preview. I am really looking forward to the risotto at the reception and of course the cake. It's my understanding that it will be some days before the poundage I gain takes full effect; this is useful because once the wedding is over I will no longer care how I look, having presented my best face (as good as it gets) to the people I haven't seen since college. Hopefully no one gets the idea to take a photo for the alumni notes (not that I graduated).


But I love my friend, and it's her big day, so I'm goin' to the chapel of love.

Unless we're talking hair

Grey will never be my new black.

and for my birthday

I got a job. Finally.

Simpsonized (complete with sweat)

No one likes a scratched LP

I hate when people say 'everything happens for a reason,' because while I agree wholeheartedly with the search for silver linings, things don't usually just 'happen.' People make decisions, which lead to situations, and because of those situations other people make other decisions. I agree with the existentialists that life is the sum of one's choices, and that even includes the choices one makes when something 'happens.'
So here's the thing. Over six years ago I made a choice, based in part on the choices of two other people whose lives had a direct effect on mine, and it was the wrong one. At that point my life stopped moving in a forward direction and has taken turns stuttering and running circularly. I know there's no point in dwelling, since I can't go back and make another choice (and all I could really do if I could do that is ask more questions in order to make a more informed decision - I still don't know what the right choice would have been, just that the one I made wasn't it). So I am just hoping that directing my intention toward smoothing out the scratch on the record of my brain, without actually knowing how that can happen, will bring about some more forward momentum. Because it's getting frustrating in this quagmire and I'd like to get out.

Daily Show: Oh My God! this administration is taking the United States Pass/Fail!

The Bush administration is now the only entity I have ever known to actually FAIL in a pass/fail situation.

Shaw's law and correlation

You'll never feel like you're enough for anyone until you believe that you are.

I'm only just about enough for me. And I think that that's all anyone can be.

My least favorite gerund

Dating, meaning in the process of seeing someone of a possible romantic interest on a regular basis. That's a fairly straightforward definition. Obviously the derivation is somewhat more complex, since the verb 'to date' in this sense comes from the noun 'date,' which became an 'occasion on which two people meet for a potentially romantic tryst' because of the practice of 'setting a date' on a calendar for an event. Therefore, 'dating' originates from the notion of a square on a calendar, and I suppose that the subsequent practice of accounting for the time that has passed since one's original 'date' (presuming the dates continued on a relatively unbroken basis), e.g. 'we have been dating for 6 weeks,' makes sense.

But here's the problem for me. Going on 'dates' implies that one sets a date for each meeting and that they are finite occasions in and of themselves. But 'dating' doesn't have to mean a series of dates. Amongst people in their 20s and 30s in the city, it can mean 'having slept together more than once and in full knowledge of the other's first and last names.' It is also used to describe a relationship in which people spend all of their time together, possibly sharing a living arrangement, without the existence of a marriage agreement.

So 'dating' is what you are doing from the moment you decide to sleep with someone a second time until you get married?

This is why I hate this word. I don't think I would hate it if there were acceptable gradations with their own terms. I would still have issues with its etymology, as well as with the annoying sound it makes coming out of people's mouths, but I would not unfairly hold it responsible for the dearth of descriptive terms for the varying levels of relationships.

Other options only make things more confusing: 'hooking up,' which means sleeping together but not (apparently?) going on actual dates; 'hanging out,' which means spending time together and possibly sleeping together but exhibiting an unwillingness to even commit to a nebulous term like 'dating;' 'in a relationship,' which to some people means 'almost married' and to others means 'seeing someone more than once a week.'

All of this crap is indicative of the fact that no one seems to meet anyone they actually want to be involved with; it also seems to show that even if someone is very interested, they won't risk losing face by admitting to any more interest than the lowest level of involvement description.

At any rate, all of this lexical confusion isn't making me any more eager to splash around in the (ew) dating pool.

Movin on up

Apparently this used to say 'Slum Historique,' but that's been painted over. Maybe if the neighborhood that shares my name is moving up in the world (or at least shedding its 'slum' label), it's a sign that I might also get gentrified sometime soon! Of course, if that just means more hipsters mooching around, I'll pass.

My headache was so bad this morning, I wished this water was running over my brain

Another Dream, Worse Premise, Surprisingly Better Waking Feeling

I dreamt I was in prison. It was a better dream than the one about the former boyfriend marrying the new girlfriend. I saw him yesterday. He didn't say anything about impending nupitals. But I'm more concerned about the state of my subconscious than the state of his commitment levels. Although I am also concerned about that.

The Most Beautiful Building in DC (too bad about half of its inhabitants)

Missed Connections are So Dumb

Why would you want to meet a person who trawls hundreds of posts every day to see if anyone's written something about them?

Right before I woke up this morning I dreamt my former boyfriend told me he was going to marry his current girlfriend

Now I have no appetite and can't think of a good reason I exist. Why do people get so excited about dreams? No matter what my unconscious is telling me, it's something I don't want to know.

It's my mother. I'll put it on speaker.

I love the Geico cavemen.

Through these fields of destruction, baptisms of fire

15th Street between R and S, NW

The More Loving One

Looking up at the stars, I know quite well

That, for all they care, I can go to hell,

But on earth indifference is the least

We have to dread from man or beast.



How should we like it were stars to burn

With a passion for us we could not return?

If equal affection cannot be,

Let the more loving one be me.



Admirer as I think I am

Of stars that do not give a damn,

I cannot, now I see them, say

I missed one terribly all day.



Were all stars to disappear or die,

I should learn to look at an empty sky

And feel its total dark sublime,

Though this might take me a little time.

-W.H. Auden

My Two Favorite Lines from Kiss Kiss Bang Bang

"I swear to God, it's like somebody took America by the East Coast, and shook it, and all the normal girls managed to hang on."

and

"Badly is an adverb. So to say you feel badly would be saying that the mechanism which allows you to feel is broken."

Hidden Casita

My favorite line from The Last Days of Disco

"I *wish* we were yuppies. Young, upwardly mobile, professional. Those are *good* things, not bad things."

Coal and Carlisle

Across a wire

My favorite line from Thank You For Smoking

"Kind of makes you want to stop eating sushi, but I guess you kind of have to."