Baby You Can Drive My Car

I’ve decided to perform an experiment for the month of June. No, it does not involve beakers or Bunsen burners, but rather bicycles and buses. Oh. And my weird feet, of course. From June 1-30, 2011, I will park my car and use alternate forms of transportation in order to get where I need to go. Instead of driving, I will take the bus, walk, or ride my bicycle.

I am allowed to beg for a ride somewhere twice, once from my mom, and once from a friend. I’m only allowed to catch a ride with someone if they are going to the same place that I am, and if they don’t have to go more than one mile out of their way to pick me up.

I’ve given myself three outs for using my car, which is currently parked on the street in front of my house:

1. In the event of an absolute *emergency* – someone’s in the hospital or stranded on the freeway
2. If it is going to be inordinately dangerous; for example, if I have to go somewhere alone and will be coming back too late at night or have to transfer buses in an unsafe neighborhood
3. If it is going to jeopardize my job in any way because I’m unable to get where I need to be when I need to be there

I think these are reasonable exceptions and I’m interested to see how often I’ll need to use them. I’m also interested to see how many times I flake out and use my car just because it’s too much of a pain in the ass not to.

I started thinking about this when I moved at the end of March. I lived in my little apartment for a year, just one year, and managed to acquire a shocking amount of stuff. I’d go to Bed, Bath and Beyond for a shower gift and come home with a cake stand (only $10!), and an extra laundry basket ($2!!), and who knows what else. I’d go to the grocery store and buy every beautiful vegetable in sight and end up throwing far too many of them in the trash because I couldn’t eat them all before they spoiled. It was easy to acquire stuff because I didn't have to think about how to transport it, I could just toss it in the back of my car and presto! I started to wonder, what if I actually had to carry all that crap I consumed, in my arms, all the way home from the store?

I'd have a lot less shit in my basement.

One day my friend Sara and I began discussing what it would take to go completely without a car in metro Detroit.

Me: “It’d be hard. Especially in February.”

Her: “If you’re seriously considering it you need to try it for a month in the summer and a month in the winter, to see if it’s even possible.”

This was, of course, a brilliant idea. (I really love having brilliant friends, but that's beside the point, back to my experiment.) I knew she was right. If I was serious I was going to have to commit to a serious test.

So this is my summer test drive. Or rather, my summer test walk. Twelve days in to my little transportation experiment I’ll say that it’s been… interesting. Easy at times, difficult at others. Sometimes relaxing, sometimes stressful. I’m tracking all of my miles and the method of travel. I’m taking notes and making observations. I keep reminding myself that if I could manage to go without my car it would save me $350/month.

We’ll see where I land in another 18 days. Wish me luck.

Smithereens

Fall in love with a dear friend who is in love with someone else. This is an excellent test of your mettle; that is, if you can avoid getting your heart smashed to smithereens.

Seeing Red

I bought new reading glasses. They are red. I love them a lot.

A lot.

Things At Which I Am Just No Good

1. Exercising self-restraint
2. Masking my feelings
   
3. Exercising on a regular basis
4. Giving up caffeine
5. Taking my thyroid medication
6. Folding my clean laundry in a timely fashion
7. Putting my foot down
8. Making pie crusts
9. Meeting deadlines
10. Holding back tears
11. Being quiet
12. Taking quick showers
13. Finishing my book club books
14. Listening to music at low volumes
15. Biting my tongue
16. Keeping secrets

Don't Look Now

It has been a very long time since a man touched me with love on his fingertips. I’m not sure I remember the feeling.

Confession: I spent most of 2010 making love to a man who was not making love to me in return. Oh the physical act was there, and at times I could swear I’d see a flicker of love in his eyes, but that was just my confusion of sexual tenderness for love. I am easily confused.

Somehow when a lover hurts my feelings it’s like I can feel every past hurt from every past lover rush back to me all at once. And the twinge in my heart is so great that tears bloom in my eyes.

Suddenly I am sitting in my bedroom, talking on the telephone. My grandmother has just died and I’m saying, “I just need you to come over and hold me.” Mark refuses to come. And he does not understand. I am crying.

Suddenly I am driving my car in Ann Arbor with a dark haired man in the passenger seat. The windows are down and we are listening to Pearl Jam. I am laughing when I turn toward him and finally notice the marks on his neck that were not made by me. I’m hitting the brakes while trying not to hit him in the face. I’m kicking Chris out of my car miles from his house. I am crying.

Suddenly I am looking at my checking account balance wondering why his check for half the rent bounced. I am sitting in an airport listening to him explain that he doesn’t have the money he promised he’d save for our vacation mere hours before we are supposed to leave. I’m talking to his sister realizing the computer he “sold for $40” was actually sold for four hundred dollars. Another lie. About money. Again. And I am crying. I am crying. I am crying myself to sleep on the couch while Shaun sleeps peacefully in our bed.

Suddenly I am waking up in bed next to him, his long arms and legs wrapped around me, keeping me warm. I am coasting down a hill behind him on my bicycle, wind and happiness on my cheeks on a hot summer day. I am closing my eyes as he kisses me, knowing that he is a man who will never lie to me. I am sitting in a dark movie theater listening to the sound of our laughter rise up toward the ceiling. I am watching him fidget with his keys while he talks about movies with the video store clerk, knowing we won't actually watch the one we are renting. I am chopping peppers, listening to music he gave to me, music that I love, music that he knew I’d love. I'm on a rooftop in Nashville, at a wedding on my birthday, hoping that he will call me to wish me a happy one. I am standing at the foot of his bed as Mike says to me, “Don’t fall in love with me.”

I am lying when I respond, “I won’t.”

I am lying.

Winter in Chicago

Dating 2.0

Everyone seems to be online dating. I’m not sure I understand this. This means that on any given day, at any given time, with any given person you meet, there could be multiple online versions of their personality floating around in cyberspace. Their Facebook self, their Match.com self, their OKCupid self. All these virtual renderings consist of carefully edited lists of the books and movies and music that they like, what their ideal first date would be, how much money they make, how they feel about God, their level of education, if they’re ‘fit’ or if they have ‘a little extra’, and blah blah blah.

Then there are the even more carefully selected photos. The perfect angle, the perfect lighting, the perfect composition that says, “Hey, I’m attractive, I could be your soul mate, I’m probably fantastic in bed, I don’t take myself too seriously, and I happen to like all the same crap that you do! Message me!” Is this really how people meet nowadays?

There are so many sites to choose from that even the platform you select seems to say something about you. Do you use a free site or do you actually pay for this garbage? (No judgment.) Do you use a site that only makes heterosexual matches, or do you intentionally use Chemistry.com because they accept everyone, and you’re an open-minded person?

And let’s not forget the corresponding smart phone apps for each site so that you can always be connected. Check your matches while waiting in line at the bank! While riding in the elevator! While waiting for your food at a restaurant! What happened to looking around while waiting in line at the bank, on the elevator, or at the restaurant because there might be a hot girl or guy right behind you – you know, in the flesh! Gasp! I’ve witnessed people checking their matches while out at the bar, or at a party, or in line at the bank. What if you miss your next great date (or relationship) because while you were busy fiddling with your phone, your life was busy passing you by?

Online dating is a steaming pile of dogshit. Of all the wonderful couples that I am blessed to know and love, and there are a lot, there is only one – ONE! – who met online. They are the exception-turned-urban legend whose story people tell to their lonely friends and relatives to convince them to try online dating. To be fair, their story is beautiful, as are all stories of true love. They fell in love, moved across states to be closer to one another, and eventually got married. I believe they’ll have a strong, lasting marriage. Not that marriage is everyone’s goal, I certainly don’t need a relationship to lead to marriage to consider it successful….

But where was I? Oh yeah, at the giant steaming pile of dogshit. Here’s why: at the end of the day, after all your lists of music and books and movies have been compared and evaluated, and you’ve ascertained the person’s views on God and education and the death penalty, it doesn’t really matter. None of it really matters because it is totally impossible to account for the miracle of human chemistry in an online setting. Without chemistry on every level – intellectual, emotional, physical – you cannot have a relationship. Without at least a little chemistry on every one of those levels I can’t even have good sex. Chemistry doesn’t mean that two people like all of the same things. In fact, that’s boring. Chemistry is the spark, the intrigue, the passion. It’s what pulls two people together, even in the most unlikely settings and circumstances. And although I can’t define it concretely or draw you a diagram, I know it when I feel it. Like every person on the planet.

Today, right now, in the year of our Lord two thousand and ten, there are no more people going on first dates, getting into relationships, or getting married than there were in 1985, before online dating existed. Online dating doesn’t increase your chance of meeting someone with whom you’ll spark, so here’s the question: why do it? Why do it?? Has the Internet revolution so stunted our social skills that we don’t know how to meet people in person anymore? Ladies, are we too lazy to do our makeup and go to the bar (or grocery store, or bank, or elevator) and make eye contact and flirt? Guys, is shaving and throwing on a clean shirt really so difficult that you’d prefer to sit in your room, glued to your computer monitor, scouring the Interwebs for the next love of your life? I realize that prior to this past year, I was single for a period of only two months in between a two year and a five year relationship, so I don’t have a lot of experience dating in any format in the past decade, but has the game changed so much? Is this Dating 2.0?

If it is then I’m screwed. My palms start to sweat just thinking about this possibility. I signed up for a free online dating site for a period of about three weeks several months ago. It was, as expected, just enough time to get creepy messages from all manner of creepy, socially awkward weirdos (including a man with creepy horns implanted on his head, creepy caps on his teeth that looked like fangs, and a giant tattoo of a creepy lizard/dragon across his creepy chest), and go on two blah dates. Single guys, I beg you, put down your smart phones! Log off of your Match.com profile! Come to the bar! Go to the bank tomorrow! Open your eyes! There are wonderful single women all around you. Including me. I’d love to go on a second date. (You know, a second date? That’s the one that comes after a good first date? It’s OK, I understand, you haven’t been on one of those in a while.)

The truth is that I’m a snob. I don’t want to meet someone online. Does this make me a non-line dater? Some friends tell me that the medium shouldn’t matter, if I want to meet someone I shouldn’t discriminate, I shouldn’t judge. But I don’t want to meet someone, I want to meet one very special person. And I don’t want to meet him online. I’d rather meet him in a bookstore, or at a stoplight, or in an elevator, or at the bar, and I’m perfectly happy waiting for him for as long as it takes. Whatever he’s doing is just exactly what he has to be doing in order to meet me at just exactly the right time. And honestly, if he misses the bus and never shows up and I’m on my own for the rest of my life? Why exactly would that be a terrible tragedy? I will certainly be in no short supply of love and companionship because I have incredible friends and an amazing family. And, having narrowly escaped what certainly would have ended up as a failed marriage between two people utterly wrong for each other, being happy and alone is greatly preferable to being miserable with someone else.

In summation, to the pro-online daters out there who label me a cynic and a snob, I say (with the deepest love and affection), “Screw you.”

Now who’s coming to the bar with me?

Both Sides Now

by Joni Mitchell

Rows and flows of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
I've looked at clouds that way

But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way

I've looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's cloud illusions I recall
I really don't know clouds at all

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way you feel
As ev'ry fairy tale comes real
I've looked at love that way

But now it's just another show
You leave 'em laughing when you go
And if you care, don't let them know
Don't give yourself away

I've looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
It's love's illusions I recall
I really don't know love at all

Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say "I love you" right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I've looked at life that way

But now old friends are acting strange
They shake their heads, they say I've changed
Well something's lost, but something's gained
In living every day

I've looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all
I've looked at life from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all

Love vs. Marriage

I’ve been to a few weddings now since The Great Breakup of 2009. At first I was afraid I’d never be able to go to a wedding again in my life, but somehow I am finding more and more comfort in each one I attend. There is something about watching two people who love and respect each other exchange vows of marriage that they actually mean that resonates in my lover’s heart, bruised as it still may be.

On Saturday one of my younger cousins got married. During the ceremony the pastor said something like, “Marriage is not only choosing the right partner, but also being the right partner.” Shaun and I never could have been the right partners for each other. I tried for so long to turn him into so many things that he is not. Shame on me for doing that to someone I loved. Shame on me for doing that to myself.

In the past six months I’ve started to realize that a wedding is not important to me. A marriage – in the traditional sense of the word – is also not important to me. I just want love. Love wins. I want a real man who will really love me who I can really love back. I expect finding such a relationship to be one of the greatest challenges of my life. I plan to be exceptionally picky this time around. No settling. I want what I deserve.

Collections

When I think about my childhood my memories get lost in songs. Sometimes it’s an entire album of songs – like Paul Simon’s Graceland, which reminds me of driving to Wisconsin every summer with my mom and little brother. I can still see the inside of mom’s old Buick. I remember arriving at Aunt Mary’s house in Green Bay amidst the overwhelming birth of the Bay flies. Mom had to turn the windshield wipers on to clear their buggy guts from the glass.

Other times it’s just one song, like Leon Russell’s A Song For You. My parents were going out somewhere some night, to a party that required dressing up and the proper application of cologne and perfume. Dad was ready to go, mom was not. I sat curled up in one of the chairs in front of the speakers in our back room and watched my dad smoke a cigarette while the song played. I remember how long and wavy his hair was, and how he smelled of Old Spice, and the falling notes of Leon Russell’s opening piano.

I remember how, at age four, I danced around that same back room to Pat Benatar’s All Fired Up while wearing my tulip embroidered tutu. I couldn’t dance too wildly, otherwise mom’s record would skip.

I remember getting scared watching Thriller with my dad and running to hide under my bed. I was only three then. I eventually came out of my room in time to see Michael’s scary yellow eyes at the end. My dad still loves that song.

I remember the day mom and dad got their new mattress delivered. The box spring and mattress were on the floor in the family room while mom swept and mopped their bedroom floor. I laid down on the new mattress, still enclosed in its protective plastic, and she played Phoebe Snow’s Poetry Man over and over and over again.

I remember cranking Lenny Kravitz’s Fly Away while driving down some Florida highway in mom’s Chevy Astro, with my brother in the passenger seat. We needed some time away from the parents that vacation. I wonder if he remembers that?

Recently I went through my parents’ vinyl collection. They have not owned a functioning record player in almost two decades, but they still have their albums. Looking at their library I could see a bit of what each of my parents must have been like before they met, before they got married, before they had babies. I could see a bit of what they were like when they were each my age. I could see how they’ve each had their influence on me. Mom wasn’t allowed to listen to The Beatles as a kid, so she had things like The Boston Pops Play The Beatles! The 60s version of Kidz Bop, I imagine. She also had Gordon Lightfoot and Carole King and Stevie Wonder and Aretha Franklin and actual Beatles albums, acquired after age eighteen I’m sure. Dad had Jimi Hendrix and lots of Santana and Robin Trower and Chaka Kahn and The Who.

I wonder who will look at my collections someday, attempting to learn a thing or two about me from what I have gathered over the years. Maybe it will be my music, maybe it will be my books, maybe it will be my friends. I’d be fine being judged by any of these things. Now ex-boyfriends on the other hand, is a totally different story. Let’s hope no one ever judges me based on that collection. Let's just stick to the music.

Proper Goodbyes

Lately I’ve started to write a lot of things that never seem to get finished. Even my journal entries are becoming difficult to complete. Two nights ago I fell asleep while writing and woke up to find a semi-coherent sentence that slowly devolves into oblivion, sliding off the page with one giant gash of black ink. The next morning the pen was still in my fingers. Re-reading it I was tempted to put a giant red X through the entire entry. Or just torch the journal and start over. I’ve been filling up journals with nonsense for years, and for what? So someone can read them some day long after I’ve taken my last breath and realize what an idiot I was – especially about men? Useless.

I suppose it’s not just journal entries that I can’t finish, I don’t seem to be able to go the distance with a relationship either. I don’t know how people manage to stay married for thirty years without getting sick of one another. Maybe I’m like a relationship sprinter. Or maybe I’m in the wrong race. Or maybe it’s not a race and I just don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.

Thinking back on all the goodbyes I’ve exchanged with men in my life, it’s painfully obvious that in every case I knew what would bring about the end of things long before things ever ended. Sometimes it was on a first date, sometimes it was after a few weeks, sometimes it took two years. In every single case I can remember a moment where I thought, I should not be with this person, but of course I almost never said or did anything about it. I wonder how much heartache I could have saved myself by speaking up?

Maybe it was something superficial – like a ridiculous outfit or an off-color joke; or maybe it was serious – like showing up for a lunch date with a hickey or writing me a rubber check for half the rent. Regardless of what the indicator was, the point is that such indicators actually existed. And I ignored them. That I can remember so many of them with such clarity tells me I ought to trust my instincts a little more in the future. Had I paid better attention they would have served me well.

What my instincts tell me now is that some day, possibly soon, I will be told that my company is no longer wanted. That my kiss is no longer exciting. That it was fun while it lasted, but it’s no longer comfortable to fall asleep next to me. I know this will hurt a little bit, but I will appreciate the honesty. Honesty is important. From now I on I will be honest with myself. Especially about proper goodbyes.

Look at that. I finished something.

Please Me Like You Want To

Leaving me is the least that you could do....

The Guys They Are A-Changin’

It’s hard to find a good man these days. I blame Jack Nicholson for this. I’d like to introduce my first piece of evidence. (Well OK, it’s really my only piece of evidence. Quit being so damn picky.) Watch this:



What the characters in this scene fail to realize is that generally it is not, in fact, a compliment when a man tells a woman that she makes him want to be a better person. Or that he will change X about himself in order to date her/sleep with her/get her back/marry her. They are not alone in this misunderstanding; it’s rather popular these days. Just ask John Legend. Or any one of my ex-boyfriends. I guess it’s easy to see why so many people, both men and women, might see this expression as a form of flattery. “You mean you’d give X up for me? How amazing!” But it’s really not amazing. At all. Allow me to explain.

Plenty of couples fall in love every day. Sometimes (frequently if you happen to be me) one half of the couple does not have their shit together. There are varying levels of Shit-Togetherness, ranging from the truly horrifying Can-You-Blow-In-This-Straw-To-Start-My-Car-So-We-Aren’t-Late-For-The-Movie? to the not so terrible I-Should-Probably-Get-Around-To-Opening-That-IRA-I-Keep-Talking-About. Depending on where a man falls on this scale, certain eff-ups – even biggish ones – may be overlooked. Sometimes they can be overlooked for quite awhile under extenuating circumstances. And often blame lies with the woman for not knowing what she wants and needs in a partner. But eventually all that outstanding shit is going to hit the fan, hard, and if the woman in this scenario is a woman worth having she will probably leave. Suddenly the man will realize that he has lost something amazing and, correctly recognizing this (maybe for the first time), he will offer to change in order to get her back. When this promise to change occurs before the first date – in order to secure a first date even – it often starts small before snowballing into a monster. Case in point:

Dude: [lights up a cigarette, the same kind he’s been smoking every day for a decade]

Girl: Oh, you smoke? I don’t date smokers. I’ll just be going now.

Dude: Wait! [violently squishes cigarette in a nearby ashtray] I’ve been meaning to quit for years now anyway. I can quit for you. [starts twitching, tries not to pull out another cigarette, hands book of matches to Girl]

*Sigh*

It’s really all downhill from there. He might try to quit smoking, sort of, but sooner or later, when he’s had a particularly craptastic day and she’s not around, he’ll go to the store and buy a pack and chain smoke the whole thing. He’ll brush his teeth three times and drink half a bottle of Scope, wash all the laundry in his house attempting to eradicate the smoky evidence, and the second she walks in the door she’ll say, “Has someone been smoking in here??” He’ll start to resent her for having to sneak around just to do something he’s always done, something he enjoys and that makes him feel good. She’ll be disappointed that he’s not keeping his word. Things will end badly. It’s a slippery slope.

So Maria, you ask, if you don’t seem to be complimented by a man’s offer to change for the better, what IS complimentary? So glad you asked, dear reader, I’ll tell you. It’s complimentary when a man takes care of himself so that he can take proper care of the people he loves – including his woman. It’s complimentary when a man takes the time to get to know himself, to understand what he wants out of his life, is deliberate in his actions in order to get what he wants, and then chooses you to be the woman with whom he spends his time. It’s complimentary when a hardworking man endeavors to continue to deserve the woman he loves every single day by choosing to honor her with all his actions. It’s complimentary when a man makes a mistake and actually learns from it. It’s complimentary when a man loves a woman so much that she inspires him to be the best version of himself that he can be.

Of course this all works the same in reverse, good men deserve these same things from their partners. And of course I understand that at the end of the day there is no one on the planet that has all their shit together all the time. No one is perfect, mistakes will be made, and that is OK. I’m not perfect and don’t expect other people to be. We all need companionship, love, and support for the hard times. But at this point in my life I’ve decided that I’m going to look for a man who is on the right end of that spectrum, who is ready for what I’ve got to give, and doesn’t need (or want!) to change his lifestyle in order to be what I need. I’m pretty sure I deserve that. I think this is a good goal for 2010.

Maybe 2011. I’m still having fun being single.

Happy and Sad, Sad and Happy

I can't tell if I'm happy or sad.

Lately I've felt happy. I'm laughing with good friends, laughing with loving family, laughing with handsome men. I've been going out and having a good time. I've been staying in and taking bubble baths. I've been learning how to smile again. But no matter how much I laugh or smile or flirt there comes the moment -- and it inevitably will arrive -- where the twinge of guilt creeps in.

I start to think about the man I almost married and I know that wherever he is, he is most likely not happy. And then I feel sad. Some days I feel happy all day long, laughing, smiling; and when my head hits that pillow I think, "Wow, I didn't miss him today." And then I feel sad. And guilty. Sometimes I catch myself daydreaming about what my life is going to be like from now on and I get excited at the ocean of possibilities that I have in front of me. Then I remember that he's counting down the weeks until he gets sent to Afghanistan. And I feel sad. I still love him and I want more than anything for him to find happiness and peace. To find love again. I worry about him going overseas and pray that he'll come home safely to his friends and his family.

Sometimes I want to call him and tell him that this was not all his fault. I should have realized a long, long time ago that we were not right for each other. But I didn't. I should have been honest with myself about who he was and what we both wanted. But I wasn't. I could have chosen not to hold him responsible for my unhappiness, and placed that burden where it always belonged, with myself. But I couldn't. And I can't call him. I don't want him to see my name on his caller ID and get excited, only to talk to me and get upset. I don't want to hurt him any more.

I just don't want to hurt him any more.

Which is why I don't know if I'm happy or sad. I feel happy, but I feel like being happy is somehow being mean to him. That might be absurd, but it is what it is, and I can't help it. So for now I'll go on feeling happy and sad. And maybe some day soon I'll just get to be happy. I think I deserve it, after having been sad for such a long time.

Murphy’s Law, or A Story in Which Everything That Can Go Wrong, Will.

Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up.

Shaun and I are not getting married. I moved back to stay with my mum and dad for a bit while I finish graduate school. Their house was broken into and just enough things were stolen to ruin my life for the next several weeks, including my computer and the engagement ring which was legally Shaun’s. Am now trying to finish my semester without losing my mind, and simultaneously hoping that Shaun opts not to take me to small claims court for the ring, since it was uninsured.

So. At the end of this, the longest and most ridiculous relationship of my life, I’m left with a lot of questions I don’t know the answers to. Most of them begin with the word, “Why.” For example, Why did I let this go on for so long, knowing that I was not ever going to be really happy? Oh, and, Why did he even ask me to marry him in the first place? I’m resigned to the fact that I may not ever know the answers to these questions. I’m also determined not to *ever* let this shit happen again.

Maybe I’ll join the Peace Corps. Maybe I’ll get a job in Chicago or Texas and move away. Maybe I’ll move downtown like I’ve been wanting to for ages. Maybe I’ll hit the lottery and go live out the rest of my days in Spain. Maybe I’ll go out and get absolutely shitfaced with my friends every weekend between December 12th and whenever the hell winter semester starts.

Or maybe I’ll do all of these things. And anything else I want to do.

Anything I want to do. I barely know what that means anymore, and that’s pathetic.

So I’ll conclude this web log entry with another question, only this one is of the What variety.

Maria, What do you really want to do? I'm open to suggestions.

Stay tuned, dear reader, stay tuned. Oh, and if you’re in Detroit any time soon and feel like having a beer with someone, do call me, will you?

A Resurrection Of Sorts

So I've decided to bring my blog back to life. Holler if you're still out there. Keep an eye out....

For the Star Wars Geeks

This video is up for a People's Choice Award this year (you can vote for it once a day up til January 7th at www.pca.com). He took John Williams' most famous movie themes and made a song about Star Wars. If I wasn't already engaged to Shaun, I might try to marry this young man. Enjoy.

Against My Better Judgment…

I am in love with the Twilight books. Yep, I said it. My name is Maria and I’m addicted to a saga about teenage vampire love.

I’m halfway through the third book in the series of four and I realize that it does not make sense for me to be enjoying this story as much as I am. I generally have much better taste in literature than this, for heaven’s sake! I mean, can we talk about character names for a moment? Our lovely, perpetually blushing, innocent-yet-wise-beyond-her-years protagonist is named Bella Swan. Really? Her name is Bella and she’s beautiful, how shockingly original. And Swan – once an ugly duckling, now grown up into a beautiful swan. Sigh. Talk about an extreme lack of subtlety.

So the main story line is that Bella falls in love with a “17” year old vampire named Edward Cullen(who is actually 107). The author, Stephenie Meyer, spends an unbelievable amount of time talking about how Edward is basically sex on a stick. His face, his body, his voice, everything about him draws Bella in – and her readers too. As my friend Sara says, “You want to know the lust that is Edward Cullen.” So true, dear reader, so true. He tries to warn Bella that he might be the bad guy and that it’s dangerous for her to be around him, but of course she ignores his warnings. This proves two things: first, that even when men are 107 all they really want is a 17 year old girl, and second, girls will fall for the bad boy even when it means risking a broken heart – or death, in this case.

**WARNING: SPOILERS!!

So at the beginning of the second book Edward and his vampire family are throwing Bella a party for her 18th birthday party (which, of course, she is upset about since now that means she is “older” than Edward), when she accidentally gives herself a paper cut and one of Edward’s brothers almost kills her. A tense moment in the plot to be sure, and something I was not expecting, but an action that caused me to wonder, “Well, what the hell happens when she has her period??” I asked Sara about this, as she’s already read all four books, and has been dealing with a similar obsession a bit longer than I have. Her response: “It’s never addressed.”

Does this not seem like an obvious flaw to anyone except me? They constantly talk about the how the Cullens resemble animals – bears and mountain lions. They have heightened senses of smell. In my opinion, Bella’s in some trouble every time Aunt Flo comes to town. But apparently that’s just me.

What’s really the most upsetting to me about this story though, is the fact that Edward and Bella are in love, supposedly soul mates, dedicated to each other forever, insanely attracted to one another, but they don’t have sex. (At least not so far.) Edward is afraid that it will be too much for him and he will hurt her. And because he tells her this all the time, how he could hurt her, ne kill her, at any moment, the readers fear it too. But Bella seems to think that, “Edward and his rules,” are a bit silly and old-fashioned. This teaches the young people who read these books that sex is bad! It makes men do bad things and it could get women hurt!
In spite of all this, I just can’t help myself. And against my better judgment I freaking LOVE these books. They’re what you get when you cross Danielle Steel with Anne Rice (before she was born again and swore off the undead forever). So I will finish Eclipse and rush out to get Breaking Dawn. And when it’s all said and done I will probably read them all over again a few months down the line.

The Christmas Spirit

Breathe and Reboot.

So I just deleted the entire contents of my hotmail account. The oldest email dates back to the summer after I graduated from Michigan. I had more than 700 unread emails, a total of 3200+ in my inbox. Just too overwhelming. Delete, start fresh. Maybe I'll be able to maintain a better handle on the incessant stream of junkmail I get now.

It seemed like a good idea to keep up the trend and resurrect my lifeless blog. I know, I know, it's about time.

Tonight I made Shaun bring me to see "Twilight" -- I feel sure I will pay for this for a long, long time. Bless his heart, he was the only male in the theater. It's really Sara's fault, she recommended the first book to me. (Well actually, she mentioned how the descriptions of Edward make her drool.) A quick 500 pages and 7.5 hours later and I'd finished Twilight, then I had to get my hands on the second one. I drove to Borders in a snow storm to buy it (not kidding). Finished that one in two days. So Shaun gave me #3 as an early Christmas present. They're easy (brainless) reads, and it feels nice to not be reading for school. I plan to use my semester break to its fullest.

Which brings me to school. Ah, school. Still love it, but this past semester became - rather suddenly - exceedingly, ridiculously difficult. It quickly became what everyone told me grad school would be like from the beginning. So at least now I know what to expect from here on out! I certainly don't expect things to get any easier. But I'm officially half way through and I still have my 4.0 intact. Go me!

I promise it won't be almost three months before the next post. Honest.