Episode 3 recap, which sucks a lot less than last week's did
It's Bootylicious, Baby!
Thursday, 6 March 2008
Tuesday, 4 March 2008
and the embers never fade in the city by the lake
i'm generally not a person to be homesick. not now, nor have i ever been. i'm pretty happy where i am, for the most part.
i've spent considerable time out of america in the past few years and i can honestly say that i have never once wanted to be at home instead. but everyday, there's little things that i miss and some days, the little things add up to make one slightly larger, but still pretty minimal trigger. that's what happened today.
my mom sent 11 magazines in the mail to me for valentine's day and i finally got around to reading the latest esquire which had a 14 page section dedicated to delicious sandwiches. we're not talking simple turkey and swiss on whole wheat, we're talking about chipotle chicken salad and avocados and pepperjack cheese and ranch dressing lumped a good inch thick onto fat slices of grilled sourdough bread. something inside of me died a little when i just wrote that sentence because out of all of those ingredients, the only thing i can get here are avocados which is kind of like saying go play a round of texas hold 'em with just these 13 spades. good luck with that.
italy does not have sandwiches. they have thin crispy prosciutto mozzarella paninos (technically, panini is the plural of panino, but whatever. i wont go all italian grammar on your asses) and those are fine and yummy mind you, but they are not big delicious filling sandwich creations. i'm not even sandwich crazy for the most part. but pretty much every restaurant at home carries some sort of sandwich option. and you don't realize how much you want those options until they are gone. so, lesson one of this post, is i really want a friggin delicious sandwich. now.
then, i was doing some general scouring of transport options for the eurotrip this summer and had to deal with feisty airline sites in spanish, french, and italian. and yeah, most of them had english options, which i used, but they'll "forget" to translate the error messages or the "this page did not process and here's why" messages and they'll tell you to call but no, thanks, i don't feel like calling spain/france/italy and asking habla ingles/parlez vous anglais/parla inglese for 20 minutes until someone with remedial english comes on the line and we can pow-wow it out with my remedial spanish, laughable french, or semi-literate italian.
i managed to have the new jack johnson cd shipped out to me (which i was really disappointed in, by the way) and realized that i have no idea what is going on in music at all at home or even over here really since i don't have a radio. i'm plugged into the same 3989 songs on my ipod. once upon a time i was obsessed with new music and once upon another time i actually worked at a radio station so i had to know new music like it was my job. you know, cause it was.
so finally after deciding that my 3 mile park walk today essentially overrode the need to run on the treadmill, i turned on the italian telly and what was on? ferris bueller. obviously one of my favorite movies ever and obviously one of the greatest love letters to chicago. my heart ached for one of the perfect unseasonably hot (not warm, hot) spring days and i killed for a car and lake shore drive and the skyline.
i would never want to cut out on rome - i don't want it or miss it that bad. on days like today though, i just wish i could be two places at once. namely, here in rome, but also simultaneously driving down lake shore drive in may with the windows down, listening to chicago radio, and shoving a fantastic sandwich/hot dog/cheeseburger in my mouth.
i've spent considerable time out of america in the past few years and i can honestly say that i have never once wanted to be at home instead. but everyday, there's little things that i miss and some days, the little things add up to make one slightly larger, but still pretty minimal trigger. that's what happened today.
my mom sent 11 magazines in the mail to me for valentine's day and i finally got around to reading the latest esquire which had a 14 page section dedicated to delicious sandwiches. we're not talking simple turkey and swiss on whole wheat, we're talking about chipotle chicken salad and avocados and pepperjack cheese and ranch dressing lumped a good inch thick onto fat slices of grilled sourdough bread. something inside of me died a little when i just wrote that sentence because out of all of those ingredients, the only thing i can get here are avocados which is kind of like saying go play a round of texas hold 'em with just these 13 spades. good luck with that.
italy does not have sandwiches. they have thin crispy prosciutto mozzarella paninos (technically, panini is the plural of panino, but whatever. i wont go all italian grammar on your asses) and those are fine and yummy mind you, but they are not big delicious filling sandwich creations. i'm not even sandwich crazy for the most part. but pretty much every restaurant at home carries some sort of sandwich option. and you don't realize how much you want those options until they are gone. so, lesson one of this post, is i really want a friggin delicious sandwich. now.
then, i was doing some general scouring of transport options for the eurotrip this summer and had to deal with feisty airline sites in spanish, french, and italian. and yeah, most of them had english options, which i used, but they'll "forget" to translate the error messages or the "this page did not process and here's why" messages and they'll tell you to call but no, thanks, i don't feel like calling spain/france/italy and asking habla ingles/parlez vous anglais/parla inglese for 20 minutes until someone with remedial english comes on the line and we can pow-wow it out with my remedial spanish, laughable french, or semi-literate italian.
i managed to have the new jack johnson cd shipped out to me (which i was really disappointed in, by the way) and realized that i have no idea what is going on in music at all at home or even over here really since i don't have a radio. i'm plugged into the same 3989 songs on my ipod. once upon a time i was obsessed with new music and once upon another time i actually worked at a radio station so i had to know new music like it was my job. you know, cause it was.
so finally after deciding that my 3 mile park walk today essentially overrode the need to run on the treadmill, i turned on the italian telly and what was on? ferris bueller. obviously one of my favorite movies ever and obviously one of the greatest love letters to chicago. my heart ached for one of the perfect unseasonably hot (not warm, hot) spring days and i killed for a car and lake shore drive and the skyline.
i would never want to cut out on rome - i don't want it or miss it that bad. on days like today though, i just wish i could be two places at once. namely, here in rome, but also simultaneously driving down lake shore drive in may with the windows down, listening to chicago radio, and shoving a fantastic sandwich/hot dog/cheeseburger in my mouth.
Monday, 3 March 2008
take two
here ya go
due to technical difficulties of all kinds, it's late this week. but on the brightside, now it's up on monday, so you have something to do when you're bored at work this morning. have yourself a chuckle.
due to technical difficulties of all kinds, it's late this week. but on the brightside, now it's up on monday, so you have something to do when you're bored at work this morning. have yourself a chuckle.
Friday, 29 February 2008
The Glowing Recommendation: Victoria's Secret Foldover Yoga Pants
Two recommendations in one week? I know, I know. I'm just too good to you.
So since I spend the majority of my work days in the casa, running around after two kiddies and rarely making the acquaintance of anyone other than preschool teachers, it's a safe bet that I'm generally a) never wearing makeup and b) barely dressed. Of course, for those occasions where I do need to leave the house, I can't very well do it in pink striped pajama pants. And there's some days when even jeans seems like more effort than I want to put in. I hate big bulky sweatpants but looooove stretchy yoga pants. This winter, 2 out of my 3 old pairs got holes in the bum, so I had to replace them. After much searching, I can HIGHLY recommend the following pants to you:
You can find the foldover yoga pants here and there is a cropped version here if that's what floats your boat. The material is thick for stretch pants - definitely very durable. The waistband also does not stretch out - I've heard that this frequently happens with other foldover pants.
They come in small, medium, and long lengths, which I love because frequently my sweats end up hovering way above my ankle after a few washings. They are perfect because the foldover means that the waistband does not bisect your sides, and they are super slimming and make your legs look about seven miles long. Also, since they don't need a drawstring, they are fitted, so you won't have that awkward too-big pants that hang loose and awkwardly low.
The color combos are SO cute... I managed to pick up a lot of the discontinued colors for $14 a pair during the clearance - midnight blue pants with fuschia foldover, grey pants with flame foldover, grey pants with lime foldover, and black pants with gold foldover. But even regular price they are only $29 and every so often VS will do the 2 for $50 thing. The current color combos are awesome too - I got the black with cherry foldover and also the black with black foldover which I have officially dubbed my new travelling pants. Mark my words, I will be cozied up in these for my transatlantic flight back to the States later this summer. Also, clearly, I have issues when it comes to becoming addicted to things and going overboard with them.
The bottom line is... buy them. Sleep in them. Wear them around town. Wear them to work out for all I care (but seriously, they're so comfy that you would probably just skip your workout). Just do yourself a favor and get some!
So since I spend the majority of my work days in the casa, running around after two kiddies and rarely making the acquaintance of anyone other than preschool teachers, it's a safe bet that I'm generally a) never wearing makeup and b) barely dressed. Of course, for those occasions where I do need to leave the house, I can't very well do it in pink striped pajama pants. And there's some days when even jeans seems like more effort than I want to put in. I hate big bulky sweatpants but looooove stretchy yoga pants. This winter, 2 out of my 3 old pairs got holes in the bum, so I had to replace them. After much searching, I can HIGHLY recommend the following pants to you:
You can find the foldover yoga pants here and there is a cropped version here if that's what floats your boat. The material is thick for stretch pants - definitely very durable. The waistband also does not stretch out - I've heard that this frequently happens with other foldover pants.
They come in small, medium, and long lengths, which I love because frequently my sweats end up hovering way above my ankle after a few washings. They are perfect because the foldover means that the waistband does not bisect your sides, and they are super slimming and make your legs look about seven miles long. Also, since they don't need a drawstring, they are fitted, so you won't have that awkward too-big pants that hang loose and awkwardly low.
The color combos are SO cute... I managed to pick up a lot of the discontinued colors for $14 a pair during the clearance - midnight blue pants with fuschia foldover, grey pants with flame foldover, grey pants with lime foldover, and black pants with gold foldover. But even regular price they are only $29 and every so often VS will do the 2 for $50 thing. The current color combos are awesome too - I got the black with cherry foldover and also the black with black foldover which I have officially dubbed my new travelling pants. Mark my words, I will be cozied up in these for my transatlantic flight back to the States later this summer. Also, clearly, I have issues when it comes to becoming addicted to things and going overboard with them.
The bottom line is... buy them. Sleep in them. Wear them around town. Wear them to work out for all I care (but seriously, they're so comfy that you would probably just skip your workout). Just do yourself a favor and get some!
Wednesday, 27 February 2008
The Glowing Recommendation: Jonathan Tropper
Well, with the laptop deader than dead, I haven't had the constant internet access as usual... which I've come to see as a good thing. I'm way too addicted. But in the meantime, I've been reading up a friggin storm and I finished 4 books in the last 3 days and am almost done with a 5th today. Which brings me to my glowing recommendation. Jonathan Tropper writes fantastic books, and you would really be doing yourself a favor by reading one of them.I finished reading his latest effort, How to Talk to a Widower a few weeks ago. The book drew me right in, which was such a welcome change because I had been in a string of duds and clunkers, not horrible books, but books that I wasn't immediately drawn through and had to push myself into more. Or, some of my well-rationed chick lit that manages to draw you in, but is still completely predictable. I can't remember the last time that I had sunk into a quality book like this one. You can go to Amazon yourself and read the summary, so I won't waste my time here. I will say that Tropper really manages to balance the subplots in this book well. There really is no overriding plot beyond the backdrop of Hailey's death, but rather is a story of how that major event (which happens before the book starts) affects all other aspects of Doug's life. Like anything I love, it's the characters in here first and foremost and only the most charming of narrators could make the fallout effects of loss seem so humorous.
I'm currently just about done with Tropper's first novel, Plan B. I definitely got a Hornby-esque vibe after reading How to Talk to a Widower, but I felt it even stronger with Plan B, probably because the characters (and the narrator especially) are more like Rob in High Fidelity - lost and lonely when it comes to love. Even though this book was written about the generation a good ten or so years before me and even though it takes place a good ten or so years in the past (is it true that 1998 is really ten years ago??) and even though the characters are hitting 30 and I'm nowhere close to that... I still relate to them. Many of the five have been stuck in a post-college hangover where their lives have stalled out on one front or another - careerwise, lovewise, lookswise, and so on. This is the first book in I can't remember when that I've grabbed a pen to underline. I was a big underliner back in high school, but sort of dropped off when I started reading meatier texts, ones that didn't have as many catchall philosophical cliches that I felt sooooo identified me. Here, there's the ones that I identify with right now, but scarier still, there's more that I used to identify with. Still, I've got about 100 pages left, and I'm feeling just as happy with Plan B as I was with How to Talk to a Widower. I've already got the 3rd effort (Book of Joe) on my "To be read" pile, and you'd best believe that the next time I make an Amazon purchase, I'll be getting the only Tropper that I don't own(Everything Changes) to complete my collection. They're absolutely worth a lazy Sunday afternoon and $12.
Friday, 22 February 2008
the time I totally lost my shit
for those of you not in the know, i'm keeping myself financially afloat here in rome by working as a nanny. 7:30-5:30, M-F. mommy and daddy are americans (thank goodness) and work at the embassy. k, age 3 and 1/2, is generally in school from 8:30-3:30 M-F... those italians really love to shove their kids out of the house as soon as possible. the baby, age 18 months, is generally pretty easy going and naps a good 4-5 hours a day while his older brother is at school, leaving me a lot of time to not be driven up the wall by small children.
but this week? not so much. k has been out of school for the whole week for "winter vacation" which is apparently different than the two weeks he had off for "christmas vacation" back in december. but whatever. this means, both k and the baby are hanging around the house all the time, are kind of bored, and sick of me since i'm working mostly 11 hour days to cover for the fact that their daddy's away on a month-long business trip.
which brings us to this morning. i figured i was in the home stretch, only one more day of having k home before i get to skip off to school next monday and drop him off as early as his preschool teachers will let me.
oh, i was sorely mistaken. instead, this morning involved me hitting, and consequently skyrocketing past my breaking point.
the baby woke up with a full fledged fever and cough, which is so weird because usually, all the sick germs come from school, but k has been home all week. so no idea where this virus could have come from. well he's of course screaming his head off, and if i even attempt to put him down anywhere - on the couch, on his pillow, in his chair, ANYWHERE, he would only bawl out and reach for me. finally the screams quieted down as long as i continued to hold him, and luckily he was cool with me sitting on the couch while cradling him in one arm. (thanks baby)
so k gets all mad that i can't give him attention and i'm like look, i'm sorry kid, i can talk to you, but i can't get down on the floor and play with you because your brother is really, really sick. so finally at like 9, im STILL HOLDING THE BABY, my right arm is asleep, and he starts crying and will not let up. so i think, we'll see if setting you in your crib to chill out will work. not so much, but i figure if he's gonna cry anyway, he might as well do it in the crib while my arm regains sensation. just set him in his crib because my arm was asleep anyway.
k jumps on this quality one on one time with me, and jumps into my lap to cuddle. he's bored out of his mind, mostly because the whole time i was holding the baby, he INSISTED on watching cars. i estimate that since july, i have seen this movie approximately 250 times, at least once a day. i've seen it so much i could probably recite it to you in italian.
but the real reason i despise this movie is because k THINKS he loves it but he's seen it so much that after the first 2 minutes he stops watching it and gets totally bored and whiny. but yet, he still refuses to let me turn it off or turn something else on. and that movie is two fucking hours long. so it's two hours of bored whiny k, who cries if i even attempt to trick him into changing the channel.
(i'm also having major issues trying to explain how tv works to him because he thinks all tv shows are like dvds and we can just watch them whenever we want. so now he's obsessed with casa di topolino which is all about mickey mouse, and its only on three times a day, and it's not on at all between 10:30 and 5:30 and he gets pissed when it's not on and doesn't understand. any ideas with how to explain that one would be much appreciated.)
so back to k cuddling with me on the couch while cars is going through the horribly boring quiet part where the are in radiator springs. (i fucking hate that i know the name of the fictional radiator springs.) now k can't sit still for any amount of time so after about 2 minutes he decides he wants to get down off the couch but instead of asking me to help him down, he tries to do it himself, and uses ME for leverage by SHOVING HIS ELBOW DIRECTLY INTO MY BOOB. of course, i had gotten my period this morning and the only pms/period symptom i ever suffer from is extremely extremely sore boobs. we're talking, like, a strong breeze could make me cringe in pain. now imagine a POINTY ELBOW that is supporting 28 pounds of three year old going directly into one of my overly sensitive funbags. yeah.
so i literally shrieked out loud and instinctively moved away which only caused his elbow to jam into my sternum. i've always been afraid of getting hit in the sternum since we learned in 7th grade health class that there's a little arrowhead shaped bone there that can snap off, float around in your body, cut up all your organs, and kill you. i totally lost my shit and screamed at him. he knows that he can't get down off the couch by himself because he kind of sinks in to it so he needs to ask for help. i've gotten elbow in the boob 100 other times but elbow in the sternum fucking KILLS, not to mention he got the boob pretty hard too. and i was like hey, see your elbow? see how it's POINTY AND SHARP and then i sort of pushed his elbow into his leg, not hard, but enough so he felt the pressure and i was like DO YOU SEE HOW THAT HURTS. STOP DOING IT TO ME. BECAUSE IT HURTS ME A LOT. so i felt like bad nanny. because i should have kept my cool. but im sick of telling him things 600 times and him not listening. when the tv was on i could tell him santa claus is going to come over and ring the doorbell and come inside and take me out on a date and he'd respond with "dora's at the beach!" so then ten minutes later, i go pick up a still-crying baby who proceeds to cry for the next hour and a half straight. brilliant.
suffocating myself with my new down comforter is looking like the most appealing way to spend my afternoon.
postscript: unfortunately, suffocation-by-down-comforter was not in my afternoon plans. instead, baby-fever-spiking-at-104.1 was in my afternoon plans. as was laptop-charger-cord-sizzling-and-severing-into-two-pieces-thanks-to-faulty-wiring. so, no laptop for the next week and a half until the replacement charger can be sent. faaaaaaaantastic.
but this week? not so much. k has been out of school for the whole week for "winter vacation" which is apparently different than the two weeks he had off for "christmas vacation" back in december. but whatever. this means, both k and the baby are hanging around the house all the time, are kind of bored, and sick of me since i'm working mostly 11 hour days to cover for the fact that their daddy's away on a month-long business trip.
which brings us to this morning. i figured i was in the home stretch, only one more day of having k home before i get to skip off to school next monday and drop him off as early as his preschool teachers will let me.
oh, i was sorely mistaken. instead, this morning involved me hitting, and consequently skyrocketing past my breaking point.
the baby woke up with a full fledged fever and cough, which is so weird because usually, all the sick germs come from school, but k has been home all week. so no idea where this virus could have come from. well he's of course screaming his head off, and if i even attempt to put him down anywhere - on the couch, on his pillow, in his chair, ANYWHERE, he would only bawl out and reach for me. finally the screams quieted down as long as i continued to hold him, and luckily he was cool with me sitting on the couch while cradling him in one arm. (thanks baby)
so k gets all mad that i can't give him attention and i'm like look, i'm sorry kid, i can talk to you, but i can't get down on the floor and play with you because your brother is really, really sick. so finally at like 9, im STILL HOLDING THE BABY, my right arm is asleep, and he starts crying and will not let up. so i think, we'll see if setting you in your crib to chill out will work. not so much, but i figure if he's gonna cry anyway, he might as well do it in the crib while my arm regains sensation. just set him in his crib because my arm was asleep anyway.
k jumps on this quality one on one time with me, and jumps into my lap to cuddle. he's bored out of his mind, mostly because the whole time i was holding the baby, he INSISTED on watching cars. i estimate that since july, i have seen this movie approximately 250 times, at least once a day. i've seen it so much i could probably recite it to you in italian.
but the real reason i despise this movie is because k THINKS he loves it but he's seen it so much that after the first 2 minutes he stops watching it and gets totally bored and whiny. but yet, he still refuses to let me turn it off or turn something else on. and that movie is two fucking hours long. so it's two hours of bored whiny k, who cries if i even attempt to trick him into changing the channel.
(i'm also having major issues trying to explain how tv works to him because he thinks all tv shows are like dvds and we can just watch them whenever we want. so now he's obsessed with casa di topolino which is all about mickey mouse, and its only on three times a day, and it's not on at all between 10:30 and 5:30 and he gets pissed when it's not on and doesn't understand. any ideas with how to explain that one would be much appreciated.)
so back to k cuddling with me on the couch while cars is going through the horribly boring quiet part where the are in radiator springs. (i fucking hate that i know the name of the fictional radiator springs.) now k can't sit still for any amount of time so after about 2 minutes he decides he wants to get down off the couch but instead of asking me to help him down, he tries to do it himself, and uses ME for leverage by SHOVING HIS ELBOW DIRECTLY INTO MY BOOB. of course, i had gotten my period this morning and the only pms/period symptom i ever suffer from is extremely extremely sore boobs. we're talking, like, a strong breeze could make me cringe in pain. now imagine a POINTY ELBOW that is supporting 28 pounds of three year old going directly into one of my overly sensitive funbags. yeah.
so i literally shrieked out loud and instinctively moved away which only caused his elbow to jam into my sternum. i've always been afraid of getting hit in the sternum since we learned in 7th grade health class that there's a little arrowhead shaped bone there that can snap off, float around in your body, cut up all your organs, and kill you. i totally lost my shit and screamed at him. he knows that he can't get down off the couch by himself because he kind of sinks in to it so he needs to ask for help. i've gotten elbow in the boob 100 other times but elbow in the sternum fucking KILLS, not to mention he got the boob pretty hard too. and i was like hey, see your elbow? see how it's POINTY AND SHARP and then i sort of pushed his elbow into his leg, not hard, but enough so he felt the pressure and i was like DO YOU SEE HOW THAT HURTS. STOP DOING IT TO ME. BECAUSE IT HURTS ME A LOT. so i felt like bad nanny. because i should have kept my cool. but im sick of telling him things 600 times and him not listening. when the tv was on i could tell him santa claus is going to come over and ring the doorbell and come inside and take me out on a date and he'd respond with "dora's at the beach!" so then ten minutes later, i go pick up a still-crying baby who proceeds to cry for the next hour and a half straight. brilliant.
suffocating myself with my new down comforter is looking like the most appealing way to spend my afternoon.
postscript: unfortunately, suffocation-by-down-comforter was not in my afternoon plans. instead, baby-fever-spiking-at-104.1 was in my afternoon plans. as was laptop-charger-cord-sizzling-and-severing-into-two-pieces-thanks-to-faulty-wiring. so, no laptop for the next week and a half until the replacement charger can be sent. faaaaaaaantastic.
sometimes, I like to think I'm funny
ch-ch-ch-check it out!
my first stab at writing for tvgasm. you know you want a piece. comment here, comment there, comment everywhere!
my first stab at writing for tvgasm. you know you want a piece. comment here, comment there, comment everywhere!
Monday, 18 February 2008
sugar and spice and everything nice
Just like an episode of Sex and the City, it seems like the same theme has popped up in a few different areas of my life over the past few days.
I got an email from my editor at tvgasm last night asking me if I'd be willing to switch my assignment from America's Next Top Model to Flavor of Love 3. My editor seemed super awesome about it and said it would be fine if I didn't want to, it's just that the writer that was covering the show last season has decided she wants to come back and so they thought they'd check and see if I'd be willing to make a switch to accommodate her.
Knee-jerk girl response from me? Well, it really would make everyone else happy if I switched off this show and it's the nice thing to do.
Now while I generally like to see people be happy and not sad, I don't think anyone that knows me would ever describe me as a people pleaser. So what's with this sudden urge to forgo a much better assignment just to make two people I've never even met happy?
A few days ago, my friend Marianne just got offered an awesome new job and she's super excited about it. She's satisfied with the salary they initially offered her, but would like to ask for more. Still, she was worried that in the process of discussing this with HR, her boss would find out. I asked her what the problem would be if her boss DID find out - after all, salary negotiations are an accepted part of the new-job process. Marianne seemed concerned about what the boss would think because when the offer was extended, she was told that her salary was at the highest end of the range for the position. She didn't want to seem greedy. I told her the worst that would happen was that she could present her case for a higher salary, HR would think about it and tell her that they couldn't give her any more than the original offer. Marianne didn't seem very convinced.
Then, I watched the latest episode of Lipstick Jungle last night before bed. (Ed Note #1: Ughhhh what a train wreck that piece of crap is. Thank the lord the strike got resolved so I'm not stuck watching this mindless drivel for all of eternity.) One of the storylines involved a new job offer for the first assistant of one of the main characters, fashion designer Victory. (Ed #2: Yes, that's seriously her name. Victory).
So anyway, Victory gets that flustered, overwhelmed look of a proud mama and gives her blessing to the first assistant to go for the new job. The move will totally leave Victory up shit creek without a paddle, but it will be a huge step forward in the assistant's career, so Victory decides to make that sacrifice for her employee.
Victory immediately steps out to lunch, and the traitorous assistant switches over to full-on backstabbing mode, tearing out hundreds upon hundreds of sketches of Victory's latest designs. A few scenes later we see the new assistant pitching the designs to some fashion higher-up and taking full credit for them.
It's fairly certain that the writers - for whatever reason - are trying to say that:
a) only women will act out of the goodness of their hearts in the business arena.
b) they will get royally screwed for doing so, most likely by another heartless female who wasn't dumb enough to make the same mistake.
I know I'm making a huge societal assumption right now, but I think for the most part, girls in our country are still taught to be ladylike and polite in social situations, including the workplace. (I am loosely using the term "workplace" since I have yet to become a salaried employee for any company and am currently living in Europe, enjoying a sabbatical from nothing. Just run with it.)
I remember when I was too young to know better. Playdates at friends' houses were field days because I could call the shots when offered my choice of snacks and dolls and games, because at the time, we all followed the "It's polite to let the guest choose" rule. Somehow, somewhere down the line, that message got all mixed up with "Everyone likes someone agreeable" and my vocal assertiveness mysteriously evaporated. I know this extends far beyond me because I have frequently sat in cars full of girls all claiming, "I don't care where we go for dinner!" when I know damn well that at least one of them is craving broccoli cheddar soup from Panera or chopped salad from Portillo's.
Now, I'm certainly not saying all girls are like this. Props to the ones that speak their mind. I'd still venture to guess that at some point, most of them had to stifle an impulse to ignore their opinions for the sake of being agreeable. Still, there seems to be a very fine line between being assertive and being aggressive.
I remember the first time I drafted a resume and cover letter. I showed them to my Dad, since he's my be-all, end-all for all things tax/financial/business/grownup related. He struck every single verb on both pages and replaced them with more powerful options. As a journalism major, my mental thesaurus wasn't lacking. It just never occured to me to use such powerful - dare I say aggressive? - terms to describe myself. This coming from a girl who had more than a few yellow cards pulled on her during soccer matches (sometimes, AYSO ones) because she was throwing around her 5'9" too much and roughing up the other players.
But, I got over the resume criticism and quickly learned my lesson. I accepted my crown as reigning Resume and Cover Letter Queen and was called upon to edit job applications for quite a few of my friends. I hope I can be as quick of a learner when it comes to hammering out the details of job offers... hell, I hope I can stand up for myself in general in the office. I know I'm going to have to ignore my gut reaction to use ambivalent terms like "maybe" and "I think." No one's going to sell myself besides me. Hell, I hope I have the balls to negotiate my salary. Of my girl friends who have divulged these intimate salary details to me, nearly all accepted the initial offer with a smile and a handshake. To be fair, we're all fresh out of college and are eternally grateful for any job offer, but it's certainly not setting a good precedent when it comes to voicing our opinions at work.
Men might have this issue, but I doubt it. I'm gonna go with the evidence gathered from the time honored tradition of ordering shots. Whenever I'm out with a group of guys, and one of them decides that it's time for shots, he takes a head count, meanders over to the bar by himself, and comes back and hands everyone who is in (I'm always in) a shotglass. Usually filled with a dark liquid. Usually whiskey. Because that's how those Midwestern boys roll. But I can guarantee he bought it because it's the shot that he wanted.
When girls - from all parts of the country - hell, the world - order shots, it usually goes something like this:
Girl 1: We're out of cheap beer. LET'S. DO. SHOTS.
Girls 2, 3, 4: Yeah!!
Girl 1: Tequila?
Girls 2 and 4: No!!! I hate tequila!
Girl 3: SoCo Lime?
Girl 1: No, the first time I had SoCo I had so much that I vomited for two days straight. I can't even smell the stuff anymore.
Girl 4: Lemon drops?
Girl 3: Way too sickeningly sweet. Unless you want to see me puke in this empty pitcher.
Girl 4: Okay, you decide.
Girl 3: No really, I don't care.
Girl 2: Me either.
Girl 1: Me either.
*long pause*
Girl 3: Doesn't beer before liquor make you sicker anyway?
*scene ends with another round of Bud Lights for everyone*
***Ed. Note #3/Epilogue: I will still be recapping ANTM instead of Flavor of Love for tvgasm. While I'd like to say that's 100% because I was strong enough to stand up for myself... I also employed the (true) excuse that I can't get VH1 shows because they don't make them available to download for overseas users.
I got an email from my editor at tvgasm last night asking me if I'd be willing to switch my assignment from America's Next Top Model to Flavor of Love 3. My editor seemed super awesome about it and said it would be fine if I didn't want to, it's just that the writer that was covering the show last season has decided she wants to come back and so they thought they'd check and see if I'd be willing to make a switch to accommodate her.
Knee-jerk girl response from me? Well, it really would make everyone else happy if I switched off this show and it's the nice thing to do.
Now while I generally like to see people be happy and not sad, I don't think anyone that knows me would ever describe me as a people pleaser. So what's with this sudden urge to forgo a much better assignment just to make two people I've never even met happy?
A few days ago, my friend Marianne just got offered an awesome new job and she's super excited about it. She's satisfied with the salary they initially offered her, but would like to ask for more. Still, she was worried that in the process of discussing this with HR, her boss would find out. I asked her what the problem would be if her boss DID find out - after all, salary negotiations are an accepted part of the new-job process. Marianne seemed concerned about what the boss would think because when the offer was extended, she was told that her salary was at the highest end of the range for the position. She didn't want to seem greedy. I told her the worst that would happen was that she could present her case for a higher salary, HR would think about it and tell her that they couldn't give her any more than the original offer. Marianne didn't seem very convinced.
Then, I watched the latest episode of Lipstick Jungle last night before bed. (Ed Note #1: Ughhhh what a train wreck that piece of crap is. Thank the lord the strike got resolved so I'm not stuck watching this mindless drivel for all of eternity.) One of the storylines involved a new job offer for the first assistant of one of the main characters, fashion designer Victory. (Ed #2: Yes, that's seriously her name. Victory).
So anyway, Victory gets that flustered, overwhelmed look of a proud mama and gives her blessing to the first assistant to go for the new job. The move will totally leave Victory up shit creek without a paddle, but it will be a huge step forward in the assistant's career, so Victory decides to make that sacrifice for her employee.
Victory immediately steps out to lunch, and the traitorous assistant switches over to full-on backstabbing mode, tearing out hundreds upon hundreds of sketches of Victory's latest designs. A few scenes later we see the new assistant pitching the designs to some fashion higher-up and taking full credit for them.
It's fairly certain that the writers - for whatever reason - are trying to say that:
a) only women will act out of the goodness of their hearts in the business arena.
b) they will get royally screwed for doing so, most likely by another heartless female who wasn't dumb enough to make the same mistake.
I know I'm making a huge societal assumption right now, but I think for the most part, girls in our country are still taught to be ladylike and polite in social situations, including the workplace. (I am loosely using the term "workplace" since I have yet to become a salaried employee for any company and am currently living in Europe, enjoying a sabbatical from nothing. Just run with it.)
I remember when I was too young to know better. Playdates at friends' houses were field days because I could call the shots when offered my choice of snacks and dolls and games, because at the time, we all followed the "It's polite to let the guest choose" rule. Somehow, somewhere down the line, that message got all mixed up with "Everyone likes someone agreeable" and my vocal assertiveness mysteriously evaporated. I know this extends far beyond me because I have frequently sat in cars full of girls all claiming, "I don't care where we go for dinner!" when I know damn well that at least one of them is craving broccoli cheddar soup from Panera or chopped salad from Portillo's.
Now, I'm certainly not saying all girls are like this. Props to the ones that speak their mind. I'd still venture to guess that at some point, most of them had to stifle an impulse to ignore their opinions for the sake of being agreeable. Still, there seems to be a very fine line between being assertive and being aggressive.
I remember the first time I drafted a resume and cover letter. I showed them to my Dad, since he's my be-all, end-all for all things tax/financial/business/grownup related. He struck every single verb on both pages and replaced them with more powerful options. As a journalism major, my mental thesaurus wasn't lacking. It just never occured to me to use such powerful - dare I say aggressive? - terms to describe myself. This coming from a girl who had more than a few yellow cards pulled on her during soccer matches (sometimes, AYSO ones) because she was throwing around her 5'9" too much and roughing up the other players.
But, I got over the resume criticism and quickly learned my lesson. I accepted my crown as reigning Resume and Cover Letter Queen and was called upon to edit job applications for quite a few of my friends. I hope I can be as quick of a learner when it comes to hammering out the details of job offers... hell, I hope I can stand up for myself in general in the office. I know I'm going to have to ignore my gut reaction to use ambivalent terms like "maybe" and "I think." No one's going to sell myself besides me. Hell, I hope I have the balls to negotiate my salary. Of my girl friends who have divulged these intimate salary details to me, nearly all accepted the initial offer with a smile and a handshake. To be fair, we're all fresh out of college and are eternally grateful for any job offer, but it's certainly not setting a good precedent when it comes to voicing our opinions at work.
Men might have this issue, but I doubt it. I'm gonna go with the evidence gathered from the time honored tradition of ordering shots. Whenever I'm out with a group of guys, and one of them decides that it's time for shots, he takes a head count, meanders over to the bar by himself, and comes back and hands everyone who is in (I'm always in) a shotglass. Usually filled with a dark liquid. Usually whiskey. Because that's how those Midwestern boys roll. But I can guarantee he bought it because it's the shot that he wanted.
When girls - from all parts of the country - hell, the world - order shots, it usually goes something like this:
Girl 1: We're out of cheap beer. LET'S. DO. SHOTS.
Girls 2, 3, 4: Yeah!!
Girl 1: Tequila?
Girls 2 and 4: No!!! I hate tequila!
Girl 3: SoCo Lime?
Girl 1: No, the first time I had SoCo I had so much that I vomited for two days straight. I can't even smell the stuff anymore.
Girl 4: Lemon drops?
Girl 3: Way too sickeningly sweet. Unless you want to see me puke in this empty pitcher.
Girl 4: Okay, you decide.
Girl 3: No really, I don't care.
Girl 2: Me either.
Girl 1: Me either.
*long pause*
Girl 3: Doesn't beer before liquor make you sicker anyway?
*scene ends with another round of Bud Lights for everyone*
***Ed. Note #3/Epilogue: I will still be recapping ANTM instead of Flavor of Love for tvgasm. While I'd like to say that's 100% because I was strong enough to stand up for myself... I also employed the (true) excuse that I can't get VH1 shows because they don't make them available to download for overseas users.
Saturday, 16 February 2008
The Glowing Recommendation: Friday Night Lights
As someone who is highly invested in the current state of television and finds a new addiction approximately every few months, you might not believe me when I tell you that Friday Night Lights is the best show on television. It shares this title with The Office, but I think it's okay that they are co-title holders since one is a comedy and one is a drama. It's also okay because I make the rules.
I know you might think that I'm being the girl who cried "this is the best show on television!" considering in the last 12 months alone, I've raved about my discovery of Weeds, 30 Rock, Rome, and Big Love, and I've previously prided myself among being the first to love Lost, Entourage, and, um, The Real Housewives of the Orange County. But I really can't remember the last time a show has grabbed hold of me so tightly to yank me through the stages of bliss, shock, depression, empathy, and ecstasy (often in a single story arch). I've been brought to tears by the show more times than I'd care to admit. When I started watching, there were 34 hour-long episodes that had aired, and I managed to watch them all in five days. It got all too easy to make a 1am decision that went something like, "I've only got 3 episodes left in Season 1... I can't quit now!" Then 4am rolls around, and it's like "Well, I've gotta find out what happens where they left off! Might as well just skip all sleep tonight."
The best thing about the show: the writers and their investment in making these characters extremely real. I'm a sucker for good character development, and think that in most cases, the importance of strong characters outweighs all aspects of the plot. While
some of the actors might look decades out of high school, and some of the situations they are in may be more than a little unlikely, their reactions and emotions are so true to life. Over the season and a half that Friday Night Lights has been on the air, I think I've liked and disliked nearly every character at one point or another. The biggest assholes have redeemed themselves at least once or twice and the saints have made a few bad decisions. The current owner of my television-addicted heart, Tim Riggins (seen here in this lovely photo) didn't start out on my good side. Even now, when nearly everything he does makes my ovaries melt, he still has moments that make me shout at my TV, "Riggins, NO!!!" But then, usually, he looks all smoldering and sexy and I forgive him. Seriously, he and Jim Halpert could duel it out in a fictional battle for my heart, and I genuinely would not care who wins.
Anyway, if you're hesitant about not being all rah-rah football, don't worry, it's cool. I know about two and a half football rules, and one of them is "a touchdown scores seven" - but I can still follow the show no problem. It's much more about life and high school and relationships, all set to the lovely background music that is Panther Football. There's something for everyone. The central marriage is an awesome portrayal of what I someday hope my marriage will be. There's all the intricacies of a relationship between a mother and her teenage daughter that manages to seem both ideal and in desperate need of repair. The show deals with the racism that still exists in our country without seeming at all after-school-specialey. And the whole foundation of the show is built around very genuine reactions to an entirely unexpected tragedy. Pure awesomeness wrapped up into one and a half seasons.
NBC is almost definitely going to cancel this show due to abominable ratings (which blows since NO show would have a shot in the 10pm Friday timeslot), so proceed with caution knowing that there's a solid chance that the 37 episodes that have aired make up the entirety of this masterpiece. Nonetheless - do yourself a favor and pick up the first season on DVD (only $18.99 on amazon for 22 episodes!) or watch the whole series for free on the NBC website. Then come back here and we can giggle like schoolgirls and doodle "Mrs. Tim Riggins" all over this blog.
I know you might think that I'm being the girl who cried "this is the best show on television!" considering in the last 12 months alone, I've raved about my discovery of Weeds, 30 Rock, Rome, and Big Love, and I've previously prided myself among being the first to love Lost, Entourage, and, um, The Real Housewives of the Orange County. But I really can't remember the last time a show has grabbed hold of me so tightly to yank me through the stages of bliss, shock, depression, empathy, and ecstasy (often in a single story arch). I've been brought to tears by the show more times than I'd care to admit. When I started watching, there were 34 hour-long episodes that had aired, and I managed to watch them all in five days. It got all too easy to make a 1am decision that went something like, "I've only got 3 episodes left in Season 1... I can't quit now!" Then 4am rolls around, and it's like "Well, I've gotta find out what happens where they left off! Might as well just skip all sleep tonight."
The best thing about the show: the writers and their investment in making these characters extremely real. I'm a sucker for good character development, and think that in most cases, the importance of strong characters outweighs all aspects of the plot. While
some of the actors might look decades out of high school, and some of the situations they are in may be more than a little unlikely, their reactions and emotions are so true to life. Over the season and a half that Friday Night Lights has been on the air, I think I've liked and disliked nearly every character at one point or another. The biggest assholes have redeemed themselves at least once or twice and the saints have made a few bad decisions. The current owner of my television-addicted heart, Tim Riggins (seen here in this lovely photo) didn't start out on my good side. Even now, when nearly everything he does makes my ovaries melt, he still has moments that make me shout at my TV, "Riggins, NO!!!" But then, usually, he looks all smoldering and sexy and I forgive him. Seriously, he and Jim Halpert could duel it out in a fictional battle for my heart, and I genuinely would not care who wins.Anyway, if you're hesitant about not being all rah-rah football, don't worry, it's cool. I know about two and a half football rules, and one of them is "a touchdown scores seven" - but I can still follow the show no problem. It's much more about life and high school and relationships, all set to the lovely background music that is Panther Football. There's something for everyone. The central marriage is an awesome portrayal of what I someday hope my marriage will be. There's all the intricacies of a relationship between a mother and her teenage daughter that manages to seem both ideal and in desperate need of repair. The show deals with the racism that still exists in our country without seeming at all after-school-specialey. And the whole foundation of the show is built around very genuine reactions to an entirely unexpected tragedy. Pure awesomeness wrapped up into one and a half seasons.
NBC is almost definitely going to cancel this show due to abominable ratings (which blows since NO show would have a shot in the 10pm Friday timeslot), so proceed with caution knowing that there's a solid chance that the 37 episodes that have aired make up the entirety of this masterpiece. Nonetheless - do yourself a favor and pick up the first season on DVD (only $18.99 on amazon for 22 episodes!) or watch the whole series for free on the NBC website. Then come back here and we can giggle like schoolgirls and doodle "Mrs. Tim Riggins" all over this blog.
Tuesday, 12 February 2008
dirty words in foreign languages
So we got Italian digital cable last week. It's been fabulous. I've been gleefully scanning through the 700 channels, having a blast switching whatever I want from English to Italian and back again. I've picked up plenty of nasty insults and curse words from Sex and the City (Thanks, Samantha!).
Since Italians don't have the FCC either, we get the UNCENSORED versions of every show, both in terms of nudity and language. Lets just say I figured this out when I was watching an episode of Dr. 90210. Dr 90210, by the way, must be the Italians' favorite show ever because it essentially runs every other hour on E!. Anyway, I almost fainted from watching a non-blurred breast augmentation. Lets also just say that I can now tell you how many bandages (and in what shape they are artfully decorated) get layered around a nipple to cover the stitches to reattach that puppy after it had been scalpeled right off so that the silicone water balloons could be inserted. Anyone want to venture a guess? Seriously, at this point I was sitting stunned and motionless in a pool of my own vomit.
Another less traumatic game is to figure out what the hell is actually on TV when I'm searching the guide. Some American shows have just been left with their American titles - Desperate Housewives, for one - but some have been changed. There's the ones with literal translations, like "Friends" is "Amici" complete with a brand new CGIed title "A*M*I*C*I" in the opening sequence, written in the bastard child of the actual friends font. But, there's also some where the Italians decided the American name was crap, so they made up their own title to approximate what the show is about. Or maybe the titles didn't make any sense when translated. Whatever. Anyway, try your hand at figuring some of my fave funny titles... some are gimmes but others are trickier...
Le Ragazze di Playboy (The Playboy Girls)
Rap di Famiglia (Family Rap)
Una Mamma Per Amica (A Mother for a Friend)
Streghe (Witches)
And my favorite:
SOS Tata 911 (If I translate this one directly, you'll know it. Try and focus on SOS and 911 and see if you can figure out what "tata" means. Hint: I am one.)
Aaaaand go!
Since Italians don't have the FCC either, we get the UNCENSORED versions of every show, both in terms of nudity and language. Lets just say I figured this out when I was watching an episode of Dr. 90210. Dr 90210, by the way, must be the Italians' favorite show ever because it essentially runs every other hour on E!. Anyway, I almost fainted from watching a non-blurred breast augmentation. Lets also just say that I can now tell you how many bandages (and in what shape they are artfully decorated) get layered around a nipple to cover the stitches to reattach that puppy after it had been scalpeled right off so that the silicone water balloons could be inserted. Anyone want to venture a guess? Seriously, at this point I was sitting stunned and motionless in a pool of my own vomit.
Another less traumatic game is to figure out what the hell is actually on TV when I'm searching the guide. Some American shows have just been left with their American titles - Desperate Housewives, for one - but some have been changed. There's the ones with literal translations, like "Friends" is "Amici" complete with a brand new CGIed title "A*M*I*C*I" in the opening sequence, written in the bastard child of the actual friends font. But, there's also some where the Italians decided the American name was crap, so they made up their own title to approximate what the show is about. Or maybe the titles didn't make any sense when translated. Whatever. Anyway, try your hand at figuring some of my fave funny titles... some are gimmes but others are trickier...
Le Ragazze di Playboy (The Playboy Girls)
Rap di Famiglia (Family Rap)
Una Mamma Per Amica (A Mother for a Friend)
Streghe (Witches)
And my favorite:
SOS Tata 911 (If I translate this one directly, you'll know it. Try and focus on SOS and 911 and see if you can figure out what "tata" means. Hint: I am one.)
Aaaaand go!
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