Dragon*Con 2009

Hey, the internet. It's been a while, I guess - I hadn't been doing anything particularly interesting, but then I went to Dragon*Con in Atlanta, which was my first con, and I thought I might commemorate the occasion by writing way too much about it.

Holy frak, you guys. Epic weekend was epic.

A short list of things I learned at D*Con:

• The cast of BSG are just as gorgeous and warm as you could hope.
• It's possible to make EasyMac in a tupperware container with only a hotpot.
• Don't bother taking workout clothes to con - you walk everywhere anyway and you don't remember to eat, especially when all your food is in a hotel room that's a good 45 minutes away by public transit.
• Get in line for BSG panels at least an hour and a half ahead of time if you want to be anywhere near the front.
• Line wank is best avoided by heading to the bar for booze and mockery.
• Aaron Douglas needs a job.
• Clothing is a social construct.
• Finally meeting all my fangirls was incredible.

Thursday afternoon I piled into the car with Erin, Rani, and Jess and we drove the three hours downstate to pick up Becca and then down to Atlanta! It only took about 12.5 hours all told, with stops for bathroom breaks and gas, which was pretty good time. The best thing about driving all night was that there was very little traffic. I found the secret back way around the boring part of Birmingham with no problem (for future reference, on the way back, it's Exit 264, but off Highway 65, not 20/59 - no wonder I couldn't find it). Unfortunately, I got about twenty minutes of catnapping at best in the back of the car - the morning traffic into Atlanta was kind of harrowing.

We got into the city about 5.30 or so and cruised around looking for a parking garage near the Sheraton. By 6.15, we were in line, nibbling on granola bars and sipping our juice boxes. It was a good thing, too: by 7, the line was all the way around the building. And who should wander past but Dasha and Adrienne? "Hey," I thought to myself, "I think I know those people" and then "Holy frak, I DO know those people!" There were many hugs. At 8 they let people in and we got our badges with a minimum of confusion and headed upstairs to wait for the Mary McDonnell panel that was supposed to be about the Adama/Roslin relationship before EJO canceled. It was fine, though, because I had my fangirls. I saw Angie from down the hall and we shrieked and ran toward each other like we were in a field with romantic music playing. So many hugs, you guys. It was a smallish panel, so there was plenty of room. Dasha and Erin and I decided to sit in the third row, which meant that Mary didn't high-five us like she did Rani when she came in with Michael Hogan, but that was all right: her glory filled the room.

Seriously, you guys: whatever good opinion I had of her before, I love her even more now. In addition to being incredibly gorgeous, she was warm and eloquent and sweet and thoughtful and silly. She asked where everyone was from and said she had been afraid that no one would show up, because 10 a.m. was so early and she was across from the Shatner & Nimoy panel. "But you're here!" she said, and threw up her hands in joy. "It's because we love you!" I shouted like the That Kid I am, and she said back, "Awww, I love you guys too." WIN. She called EJO to try to wake him up to talk to us, and she kept getting confused about her phone, and it was adorable. She got his voicemail and had us leave him a message that just said "So Say We All!" I didn't even know that few people could make that much noise.

She and Hogan had amazing bantering chemistry together. She kept playing with her hair and messing with her glasses, and when someone asked a question she couldn't hear because of the noise of the line waiting for the Torchwood panel, she got up and stalked over to the doors and closed them herself all presidential instead of getting her handler to do it. She talked about her favorite line ("I'm coming for all of you!") and reiterated that she thinks Roslin fell in love with Adama in "Resurrection Ship II", which is the only scene she can bear to watch. I got up (nervous and exhausted and shaking) and asked questions about Saul Tigh's perspective on A/R and about Roslin's ideal retribution when it came to Gaius Baltar, and they both had lovely answers, and Mary said she'd think about it even more and get back to us, which was sweet. I was absolutely hypnotized while she was speaking: I couldn't move at all. Her handler started whispering to her from behind the curtain about the time limit and she got up and stuck her head through and said, "But we're having so much fun!" Sadly, we had to leave to make room for the next panel.

Selected favorite quotations from the panel (from memory, not verbatim):

Mary: *coyly* I won't tell you what Laura and Bill did during their private times.

Mary, on a question about whether she has Laura Roslin's "I'm coming for all of you" attitude: Would I do that if someone came after my family? YEAH, I WOULD.

Hogan: Better say something fast if [EJO] picks up the phone. He's likely to say something [suggestive].

Mary: *picks up her water glass and puts it to her ear like a phone* I don't know why I did that!

Mary: I think I broke my phone!

Mary, on a question about the wedding ring dream sequence and the actual ring scene: You know, I think I AM the only character to get married twice after I died. Maybe the only person ever! That was really emotional, because, you know, Eddie would put the ring on my finger, and he'd start crying, and his tears would fall on my hand, and then I'd get all emotional and my eyes would start tearing up and fluttering, and then they'd yell "CUT!" Yeah, we shot that scene a lot of times. (She told this story a couple of times.)

Mary: I want President Obama, because I love him, to announce in the next few days that he has a comprehensive solution to health care reform. (She mentioned health care reform pretty much every panel; I found it kind of precious.)

Hogan: How did I feel about Adama and Roslin? *significant pause* I was happy for the old man.

Mary: I've always been a hair girl. I'm one of those girls where my hair comes into the room and then, a few hours later, I do. I should have been born in Texas.

Hogan: I went to Los Angeles (pronounced "Ann-gel-ease") for my first audition AND I GOT THE JOB! *fistpump*

Mary: *double peace sign of victory*

After that, Jess and Nina and Becca went to the Torchwood panel and Erin and I went to the food court with Aidy and Meryl, but we were kind of too tired to eat. At that point, we'd been awake for about 37 hours. There was a girl cosplaying dressed in an abbreviated collection of leather straps (including a leather thong) who got kicked out while we were there, much to the consternation of the business men. We collected the TW girls and drove to Nina's other hotel to pick up her bags and then out to our hotel in Decatur. Fortunately, Rani was awake enough to drive, and Caprica the GPS unit was very obliging, apart from her demands to have a baby. We got to the hotel around 2, were checked in and showered by 3ish, and then slept until 5.30 when Lizzy and Hayley showed up, to much rejoicing. That meant we missed the BSG panel at 5.30 where Trucco and Kandyse almost made out and Hogan actually got EJO to answer the phone, but we needed that two hours of sleep by that point. Erin and I got dressed and cabbed it back into Atlanta for Dasha and Aidy's party while the others slept.

It was a great party! Meryl successfully pulled off the fake hand prank, which was hilarious, since Aidy didn't notice she had a big old zombie hand for about ten minutes. I met a number of lovely Laura fangirls, discussed the ridiculousness of the end of the series, talked about Laura (of course), and learned that someone got stuck in an elevator with Hogan and Trucco (which caused much jealousy, as I hadn't so much as glimpsed him yet). We gathered up Nina midway through the party and bowed out to go seek soup, which we found in a rather noisy pub where we ate soup and sandwiches and drank Sweetwater 420, a local beer.

After that we cabbed it back to the hotel, terrified that we were going to die and/or get lost, as our driver was on his phone the entire time and also completely reckless and couldn't remember which street we'd told him. Finally we got back, made it up to our rooms, and fell into bed, only to have some STUPID MOTHERFRAKKER pull the fire alarm TWICE at 4.34 a.m., causing us all to jump out of our respective skins. It was a false alarm, fortunately, so we all just grumbled and curled up in our beds again for some well-deserved snoozing.

Whew! And that was just ONE DAY of con, you guys. Hold onto your socks - I haven't even gotten to the parts about meeting Mary McAwesome, Hogan, Alessandro Juliani, and Trucco yet. SO MUCH TO COME.

+ + + +

Saturday! We had a panel to get to at 11.30 and we just barely made it, due to some sleeping in and the fact that once you get any group bigger than 3 people or so, getting out the door becomes more and more like herding cats, whether you're the cats or the herder, and I've obviously been both. It didn't help that it was our first time on the MARTA, but hey, we made it! And there I had my first glimpse of the stunning vision that is Michael Trucco. Even though we were far away, I nearly swooned.

[Sidenote: Mostly I'm not all ♥_♥ about celebrities in person. We went to con for the fangirls, not for the stars. I mean, I worship and squeak over them from afar, but up close, they're just people and I try to respect that. Mary was gorgeous and Hogan was hilarious, but I was able to talk to them without any problem. Trucco's another case: he's so pretty I'm rendered speechless, and the fact that Sam is my favorite-favorite character doesn't really help. In less than six months, I went from loathing Sam to adoring him, and a lot of that was the way Trucco played him, so I've got nothing but respect and appreciation there.]

It was a nice panel with a pretty good mix of questions. Mary talked about health care again; Hogan talked about Saul Tigh and Caprica Six and Ellen; Trucco talked about how much he loves the "See you on the other side" line and Sam and Kara's relationship; Kevin Grazier babbled about his twenty rats and everyone wondered why he was even there. In the middle of the panel, somebody said, "Hey, I have a question. Does anybody remember a young, handsome actor named Aaron Douglas?" It was, of course, Aaron himself, crashing the panel - he said the bar ran out of booze, which seemed believable, given his little beer gut (and his horrible facial hair).

After the panel, we went down and across the way to Starbucks for our caffeine fix. Tori found me in line and gave me Kinder things, which was great. It was fun to be in line with Hogwarts students and Imperial stormtroopers and all manner of generally fictional things. Gandalf kept walking by outside. It's the little things, you know? In a way, con people are my people. In a way, a good number of them are not - I'm not that dedicated, I'm not that into celebrities (except maybe Trucco, and even then I wouldn't confront him if I saw him on the street past maybe a wave). Still, it felt comfortable and fun. After that we let Erin go wreak some havoc on the vendor booths while the rest of us headed down to the Froggy table so that Rani and I could sign up for a photo with Trucco and Alessandro Juliani. Dad had given me some extra money and I figured there was no better way to blow it than in the name of ridiculous self-indulgent photos. We dragged Nina along and convinced her to sign up for her own photo with Aaron Douglas, because the only thing better than ridiculousness is more ridiculousness! Besides, how could we pass up the chance to meet the people behind our favorite characters? We had to sign up for Sunday's session, because Saturday's was already over, but that was fine. Jess let herself be browbeaten into taking a photo with Gareth David-Lloyd, which was precious, and then we were free for a while.

After that, we wandered up to the Walk Of Fame, as I was inspired by Kait's text saying she'd be there. I glimpsed Jason Momoa, Rachel Luttrell, Claudia Black, James Marsters, and Dean Haglund (and later, Felicia Day) and found a bunch of Mary fangirls. I had to use the restroom, so Becca and I slipped out of the room and across the hall, where I saw two women coming out of the bathroom. One had curly hair and was sort of nondescript, and I glanced at the other. Hmm, I thought, nice legs, somehow familiar red skirt, keep going up: HOLY SHIT MARY MCDONNELL. "Oh!" I said, very startled, "Um, hi!" She gave me a vague smile and said hi back. After I hyperventilated to Becca for a second, I texted Dasha and Aidy and got in line so that Becca could get an autograph. Met all sorts of lovely fangirls there whose names I hadn't caught at the RememberLaura party.

While I was in that line, Kait found me (bringing with her Jen and Jenna). It was amazing to finally meet her after all these years; I recognized her immediately. She asked after Erin, as everyone does, who then showed up, and we all hung out and chatted in the line until the line guy made everybody shuffle over and be organized, at which point they went to find some other famous people. Angie went past with her awesome signed photo and said she hadn't asked about the cookbook we put together for Mary in February, so I resolved to ask. Mary was talking to Ron Glass at one point and Becca wanted to take a photo, but the line guy prevented her.

Trucco was right next to Mary, and AJ next to him. His line was short, sometimes almost non-existent, and I felt bad for him, but eventually he had some people. At last it was our turn to meet Mary, and Becca got a signed photo. Rani asked if Mary thought we might have great legs like hers when we were older and she said, "Honestly? I got them from my mother. It's genetics! I don't do anything. My daughter complains about it because she got her father's legs. She has great legs, but she always tells me, 'I wanted Grandmother's legs!'" That wasn't terribly encouraging, but it was still cute. I asked her about the cookbook and she lit up and said she loved it, and that it was on the shelf with her other cookbooks, and she looked at it all the time, and thank us again! We had pretty even odds that she was lying about it, but even if she was, it was still very sweet, and the way she just lit up was great. She is lovely, lovely, lovely, even if her clothing choices are sometimes odd.

After that, we got in Trucco's line, because I had decided I wanted him to sign my "Gives a whole new meaning to 'frakking toasters'" shirt. His line was pretty short again, thanks to the organizer guy who was sorting people out, and we didn't have to wait long. I went up to the table (lords, he's beautiful) and his handler kind of glared at us for coming up all in a bunch. He grinned, though, with those gorgeous blue eyes, all leaning on the table. He had a bunch of photos displayed across the front of the table, all of Sam as far as I remember.

Trucco: Hey!
Me: Hey! Will you sign my shirt, or do I need to buy a photograph?
Trucco: Sure! That's fine.
Me: Um, okay. *pays and takes off shoulder bag*
Trucco: Oh, the one you've got on?
Me: Yeah...
Trucco: Okay, what color? Black? It might bleed through onto your skin.
Me: That's okay, I'll take a shower later anyway. (Nobody is smoother than I am.) *turns around, backs up awkwardly into the little space between the tables*
Trucco: *reads shirt, apparently does double take* Is this legal? I mean, I know it'd fly in LA, but we're in Georgia.
Me: That's okay. We're from Arkansas, and I'm pretty sure I'm old enough for you to sign my shirt.
Trucco: *gets up, smooths shirt over my shoulders* Hmmm, where should I sign?
Me: Oh, anywhere.
Trucco: Hmmmmm. *patting my back in deliberation*
Handler: *grumpy* JUST SIGN UNDER THE TOASTER.
Trucco: *signs*
Me: Thanks!
Trucco: *clearly amused* No problem!
We start to walk away.
Trucco: That was my most enjoyable signing experience of the day. *pauses* Maybe ever.
Me: *dies quietly*




NB: Erin heard "memorable", but I heard "enjoyable", and that's what I'd like to remember. Either way, he was really sweet, and clearly good-humored to put up with my silly request.

After that we circled around (glimpsed Tom Felton) to take a photo with Michael Hogan, because Erin wanted one, and he was charming and hilarious and slightly pervy, but in a totally non-threatening way. He put his chin on my head, which cracked me up, and his shirt was open a lot more in the front than you would have thought. His table was next to Kate Vernon's, so I told her I'd liked her on the morning panel, because she looked so sweet and expectant and we weren't actually getting anything from her. Rani was vacillating about talking to Alessandro Juliani, so I grabbed her hand and dragged her up to the table. "We promise not to ask you about the Barbie movie," I told him, but then it was all he talked about, practically. He did this little falsetto "OMG BARBIE!" thing that was funny. He signed Rani's photo with a Barbie quote, and we all bit our tongues on telling him that it was funny that he talked about being a princess when her name means "queen". I asked him if he and the cast would be at the Colonial Fleet party, as Jamie and Mark Sheppard and Aaron had all been in years past, and very deadpan, he said, "Oh, yeah, we'll be there. En masse." I thought he was blowing me off, so I teased him a little about it, but he said they'd show up at some point, and then we thanked him and left.

Really, the best part was when we all sat down to take stock of ourselves and start breathing properly again and Rani said, "Oh, man, I totally thought Hogan was making a blowjob joke when he said lower, lower, but it couldn't be!" and we all looked at her and said, "Oh, honey, that's exactly what he was doing."

Then it was back to the hotel to scrounge up some food and get changed for the Colonial Fleet party. We'd already made plans to pre-party with Dasha and Aidy and to skip out for the Stargate NC-17 Slash panel with Hayley and Lizzy. The Westin was a very cozy little gathering; we each had a drink or two and then Dasha kicked us all out and made us go to the party. Sauntering down the sidewalk to the Sheraton, some people told us we should go to the World of Warcraft party instead - I've never been flirted with so much in one weekend. We stood in line for an age to get into the party, which was then kind of lame. It was great to see the fangirls and the people in costume (some v. good Baltars!), but no one was dancing, the drinks line was three miles long, and the music was bad. The best part was the girl with the Gaius Baltar shrine on her head. Eventually Erin and I made our apologies and slipped out to make sure we got to the SG panel in plenty of time. We were walking through the skywalk to the Marriott when I saw Alessandro Juliani wearing glasses and right behind him, Trucco. It's a fairly accurate measure of the fact that I can't look away from him that I didn't even see Luciana (Kat), Kandyse (Dee), Kate Vernon, or Hogan at all, and that I didn't notice that Trucco's arm was around Mary McDonnell until I turned around to look at him and noticed her hair. They were clearly all tipsy and jolly and fond of each other and it was just a really nice moment to get to witness, especially since we didn't get to see them at the party. It's good to know that the people who made the show that means so much to me enjoy each other's company.

We got to the panel a little early and waited outside, where someone else awkwardly hit on us. "So...are you best friends?" Yeah, we are, bugger off. The panel would have been okay if the moderators weren't full-of-themselves BNFs, and if it hadn't been for the men in the audience who were clearly there to pick a fight. "Do you think that as a woman, you write slash to exert control over men?" for instance. Eventually we just walked out. When the much braver Hayley and Lizzy returned, we cabbed it back to Decatur, where, thankfully, we did not die in traffic and no one pulled the fire alarm.

And guess what? There's still Sunday!

+ + + +

Sunday! Day of win. We slept in a little, lazed around a little, showered and got cleaned up. I put on my "Charter Member of the Laura Roslin Nymph Squad" button from the generous Avery too. She was kind enough to give me one at the Colonial Fleet party in the few minutes we were there (it's now on my messenger bag, advertising my space harlotry to the world and my workplace. Oops.).

Erin, Hayley, and Lizzy were all going to the Supergate panel at 2:30 to see Momoa and Joe Flanigan's Hair and I wanted to go too, but I had my photo with Rani, Trucco, and AJ at 3, so I just waited in line with them for a while. The Jens were there sans Kait, so I talked to them for a while before grooving on down to the Marriott. I still had some time, so I hit the merchandise and picked up some majors' pins for Dad and a copy of Fluxx for myself. I loved that card game when I played it with Julia and the H3 crowd, and I'd not seen it since, except online, and at $12 instead of $20, it was a bargain. I wanted some patches, but that'll wait. I barely made the rounds before it was time to meet Rani and Nina for photos! We kept joking that it was like a space prom, since they were using that same school-photos-nondescript background, and some of the poses were so entertaining.

We waited in the room for a long time - all the Mary photos were first, and the groups, but that meant we had a nice long time to talk to people, admire somebody's Starbuck flight suit that must have been hot as hell, and take little peeks at the cast through the open doorway. Trucco's hair was very visible, because he is a taaaaaaaaaaaall drink of water. Kandyse is so precious I want to put her in my pocket, seriously. Nina skipped in for her Chiefy photo and we were still standing there waiting. Here's the part where you need to know that I brought my cardboard cutout of David Duchovny with me and forgot him in the room every single day as we left. Fortunately, Becca had left her badge at the hotel, so she had to go back anyway, and I pleaded with her to bring David with her. She agreed and we scampered back into the room, fortunately not having missed our chance. The girls in front of us, who also had Trucco and AJ, had their photo done and the woman took our bags and let wander in, and Trucco almost had his arm around me before the photographer said, "Nope! They blinked!" so the other girls had to do their photo twice more, for blinking. AJ was joking that they were doing it on purpose.

They were both grinning when we came in again for our second try. I really wanted the ridiculous prom pose (you know, like this photo of John Krasinski) for maximum ridiculousness, but I got all shy around him (partly because I was a little leery that he'd be all, "Oh, the shirt girl!" and think I was creepy, although on reflection I'm sure he's gotten creepier, and also I though AJ might not like me after I'd teased him about the party), and just sort of went and stood next to Trucco while Rani grabbed AJ around the waist. He slung his big old arm around me and I put my arm around him, but had nothing to do with my other hand, and the photographer was impatient, so I ended up just kind of resting it on my stomach, because I didn't want to put my arm around Rani and disturb her hug.

We were their last photo, so they walked out when we did, and Trucco turned and looked right at me with those blue, blue eyes and said, "Take care." I nearly melted. So maybe he did remember me, who knows? After all, he'd said liked the shirt.

After the photos, we went upstairs to stand in line, and found Aidy and Tracy standing with Erin, having been there since 3 (it was about 3.45 at that point). There wasn't a line for the 5.30 panel - it was more of a mob, but we were standing near the front (not as close as Angie). They wouldn't let us line up for some reason. Finally, a little after four, they started shoving people into a single-file line, and nobody would let us in, so we were going to have to go down the hall, out the doors, across the walkway, and down the stairs. We all looked at each other.

"You want to just go to the bar and get drunk? Skip all the linewank?"

It was genius. I saw Tara briefly on our way in and gave her a hug. We headed up to the balcony bar with Dasha and Rani for some drinks and people-watching and chatted to random con people in the bar. Finally the line started moving, so we went down and found Becca and Nina and took silly photos with David.

Because we were at the end of the line, we were in the back row of the panel, and we cheered really loudly for the cast as they came out, incurring the ire of the people in front of us, who first took their four year old to another row (which, okay, I felt a little bad about that) and then complained a lot and moved themselves. Seriously, though, we weren't being lewd or super obnoxious: we were just cheering loudly because we were in the back, and they were introducing everyone. Plus we were tipsy. But I swear the whole cast were tipsy too, the way they were giggling, so that's all right. They answered a lot of questions they'd answered before, but it was nice to hear. I was standing in the question line talking to somebody dressed as Bill Adama, but neither of us actually got to ask anything, though Nina did. Mary McDonnell talked about Bill reading very slowly and Laura liking it very much, basically talking about the private times she refused to address when Aidy asked at the Friday panel. Hoges and Kate Vernon bantered. Luciana revealed that she'll be in Caprica wearing high heels. Trucco said that The Plan involved some of the older costumes from S2 (I cheered extremely loudly - C-Bucks rule!). Richard Hatch is one skeevy motherfrakker with all his "why didn't I ever get a sex scene?" comments, let me tell you: I'm not ashamed that I booed him at one point when he was trying to pretend that terrorism is a valid method of petition and protest, and I'm not ashamed that I kept quiet during his SSWA, which the whole cast did one by one at the end, except for AJ, who was last, and deadpanned, "Line?" Brilliant.

After the panel was sushi! We lured Hayley and Lizzy over to us by holding up David (he's better than an airport sign). Ten of us went to the Pacific Rim Bistro and stuffed ourselves, and it was delightful. I showed cardboard David to some woman who was taking photos of con people from her car. Shannon talked a bit about being an XF BNF. Rani talked about how great Alessandro Juliani and right after that HE WALKED PAST. Oh, we could have died in case he'd overheard. But he just wandered into our restaurant and stood at the bar until a table of fans asked him to sit down with them, which made us crabby that we hadn't thought of it first, but apparently they kind of knew him. Also crabby-making: we had to say goodbye to Hayley, who had to troop on home so she could get to class. Fortunately, there were photos to fetch, and soup to take to the poor working stiff Nina in the Daily Dragon office, where she was interviewing Kevin Grazier. We glanced at a bunch of the photos on the table while we were there: James Marsters will seriously do any pose you want, but obviously ours was the best, despite the fact that I looked kind of like an idiot with my hand on my stomach, as you can see:



We grabbed Nina's photo too, which was lovely: when she saw it, she squealed like a stereotypical fangirl, to the affectionate amusement of her coworkers. Then we crashed Dasha and Aidy's room at the Westin for one last round of fangirl time before heading back to the hotel to pack (lame).

Seriously, I was thrilled to meet every single person I encountered over the course of the weekend, but it was so special to get to spend time with Dasha and Aidy and my Arkansas posse, and to meet the cast, who were all so great. I didn't get to see nearly enough of the European fangirls, which was sad, but really, I didn't get to see enough of anybody. There just wasn't time, despite the fact that it felt like we spent half the con waiting for things. The whole drive back, we just talked about how we were going to miss people and how soon we could see them again. The Year of the Fangirl has completely lived up to its promise and then some, and I can't wait for the next time we have some kind of magical fangirl party.

Another side benefit of the con: I've forgiven 4.5 for the way it ended. I was so furious and so sad after the finale, what with Kara vanishing into nothingness and Laura dying (at least that I expected) and Sam flying into the sun, and Lee sending the rest of humanity off to perish of cholera and the common cold with no shelter and no tools. I felt like the finale betrayed the ideals of cooperation and fighting until you couldn't and learning from the past so that you wouldn't destroy the future. I felt like I'd been wrong about what the show was about all along: instead of cooperation, division. Instead of the lessons of history, the futility of history. The finale told me that the whole thing would happen again, when I thought the show and the characters were saying that the cycle of violence stopped with them, and I was hurt. But after hearing the cast talk and listening to the other fans, I miss it. I miss the early days when I didn't know that things would go wrong. Dana used an icon from "Unfinished Business" the other day of Kara looking slightly pained and half-happy, and gods, all of the sudden, I just missed her. I miss when Kara was the center of my world, and Kara/Lee, and then Adama/Roslin, and then OMG SAM. So I think I'm finally ready to rewatch, which I haven't been since the finale, and knowing what I know about the characters and how I feel about the way their stories played out will only make my rewatch richer and more poignant. Oh, how I love this show for bringing us all together. In the less-than-a-year since I started watching it, I've fallen in love with three-quarters of the characters, had some really interesting debates, and made so many friends. I've gone from someone who swore she'd never use the word "frak" to someone who has custom dog tags, and all because I told Dad I'd heard it was good and he should buy the DVDs. So thank you, Dragon*Con and internet friends and BSG cast, for making me believe again ♥

walkability

I have moved into an apartment! Nice!

Really, the best thing (aside from the fact that living with my parents will always bring out my sulky, bratty side more than anything else) is that my new neighborhood is so much more walkable than the old one. It's a five minute walk to the bus stop instead of a twenty minute walk, and I'm served by four or five different bus lines. I can walk to the grocery store, and there's a liquor store and a Dollar General, as well as a couple of quite decent restaurants. There's even a bike trail nearby, so I could bike to the mall if I wanted (on a good day, with a tailwind).

That is one of the things I really miss about France: I could walk almost anywhere, or take a bus or a train. The towns I lived in there were much smaller than my current town is, but the public transportation and the setup of the neighborhoods was much better. The residences and schools were mixed in with the businesses and restaurants. Plus, even though there were dog-related hazards all over the sidewalks, there were sidewalks everywhere, even in the cobbled alleyways. The cities I went to in Europe were built with a focus more on the people and less on the vehicles.

This already happens in American cities, to some extent, but mostly only the really big ones, like New York, where people are already living in close proximity. Houston's business district is vaguely walkable, and they've got good buses, but the sprawl is incredible. I can't even imagine the suburbs. DC has a lot of public space that doesn't have much of anything but parks and museums and monuments, but they also have a lot of metro access, which is fantastic, and each neighborhood is packed full of conveniences.

I can't imagine it would be that hard to incorporate some businesses into the suburban residential model. Part of the charm of Europe is its use of space: apartments on top of cafés, groceries next to laundries next to bakeries next to hotels, even in small towns. I suppose they've had to be economical with space in the past (fewer of the buildings are pre-fab, and most of them started as villages), and gas is more expensive, and people are more willing to walk, and all of these things are factors that lead to superior walkability. Americans do love their sense of space, but would it really drop property values to have a cute little café and an épicerie down the road from your tiny mansion? Food for thought. Then kids would have a reason to walk, and grownups too, and if the grocery store were closer, we could buy fresher produce.

hooray for the gym

I have never been more glad to have classes start again. Not academic classes, sadly; my pining for homework has not yet urged me into grad school (nearly, though). But the gym is open again! After three weeks (vacation, gym closed for poshing up, laziness), I have turbokick again. How delightful.

I tried to exercise while the gym was closed. Really I did, once or twice. The problem is that I'm such an uninspired runner. It doesn't matter how bouncy the music is, or how lovely the day: I just get bored. If I'm not thinking of running and how I ought to keep running fairly constantly, my feet just slow down as if I had no say in it. I can jog along for about a half hour stretch, so it's not a matter of endurance when I quit after twenty minutes, but I can't really get myself going again for any reasonable distance once I've started to walk. I suppose the couch-to-5K program is not for me, as it involves lots of run/walk intervals, but maybe it would be easier if I knew they were coming up.

I am trying to mix it up some this semester, though. Mostly because my schedule doesn't always jive with the turbo sessions, I admit, but also because I know if I do that every day, the routine will get stale before its time (though not tonight, because tonight, there will be black light and glowy wristbands, and it will be hilarious). Yesterday I tried a step class. I'm thinking of picking up a toning class. There's always yoga, and the ever popular iterative combinations of yoga and pilates. Plenty of options, anyway. Thank heavens: with the students back, who could ever work in half an hour on the ellipticals? They're all taken up by sorority girls wearing baseball caps and going very slowly so that they can talk on the phone and not muss their makeup. It almost makes one take up jogging.

Memorial stickers

Last week I was in the Deep South. It always amuses me to tell people I'm going on vacation to Alabama, because the South is so misunderstood. Sure, there are a lot of hicks. Sure, there's bulletproof glass in a lot of gas stations. Yes, you'll see a Confederate flag or two. But really, it's not that bad. You're not going to be rousted out of your cheap hotel by a KKK convention or anything, and nobody's going to threaten to shoot your lily-white Yankee butt or refer to the War of Northern Aggression (unless they're being facetious or really drunk).

There was a funny new trend, though, aside from Nascar-themed license plates: a lot of people had what seemed to be memorial stickers on their back windshields. You know, Gracie Ann Jones, Beloved Sister, year - year, Angels Watch You. Things like that. I wasn't aware that this was a trend, but I saw quite a few vehicles with these stickers in the approximately 28 hours of driving it took to get there and back. Some of them have fancy embellishments and some of them are just plain text, clear cling-style stickers with white borders, but they were all over. It was kind of sweet, I suppose: better than the Confederate flag bumper sticker on my block that says "My History, Your Ignorance" (which, to some degree granted, but I have hefty opposition to that philosophy, despite being one of the Girls Raised In The South, or G.R.I.T.S.). To some extent, the memorial stickers are sweet and tasteful, but I'm a big fan of private displays of grief, and, you know, emotion in general (unless Michael Phelps is in the swimming pool or the new X-Files movie is coming out).

My question is: is this going to be the next big trend? We've had (unlicensed) replicas of Calvin of Calvin and Hobbes fame peeing on everything under the sun, we've had the OBX stickers and their subsequent knockoffs, we've had stylized stags. Are memorial stickers going to be the new thing? Will you be able to trace the family tree by peering at someone's back windshield?

I foresee mournful stickers about pets, actors, and Nascar drivers as possible spinoffs. As for me, I want historical personages and scientific theories. Abiogenesis, beginning of time - 1861, Would Have Been Awesome. Things like that, you know. Queen Elizabeth 1, 1533 - 1608, A Fashionista For Our Times. I would totally sport a ruff.

schools for suckers, or perhaps I'm just jealous

It is turning out to be another gorgeous, sunny, chilly day, and just like most Saturdays, I'm stuck in the library, gazing out through the wall of windows across from the reference desk, watching the students spread across the quad with their books and their sodas and their mp3 players. At least it's finals week now, so a considerable number of them are stuck here in the library with me.

In a lot of ways I miss school. I miss homework. It was nice to have to schedule my leisure activities around the other things I was doing. It was nice to have study sessions that lasted late into the night. I even liked finals week: I like writing papers and having deadlines. Now I feel rather shiftless a lot of the time. I watch more tv than I did at school. I feel like I get less done.

Maybe I just need a better job. It is true that now I have a better kitchen and more independence, and the ability to laugh at all those poor suckers tying themselves into knots trying to cram five more vocabulary words into their heads, or fill the other half of their sketchbooks, or frantically try to remember all the details of that experiment from three months ago to bring their lab notebook up to snuff.

I've been back from France now for a year. It's still kind of strange.

I swear I do talk about things other than the gym sometimes

One of my favorite parts of being rather a regular at the gym now (at least in my classes) is building up some gym cred with the real regulars (i.e. the fantastically fit people who don't even need classes to keep them motivated) and with my instructors. Last week, for example, the instructor that I call The Kickboxer (to distinguish her from The Other Kickboxer, natch) split us up into a sort of dance-off just to change things up a bit. Unfortunately, most of the people who knew the routine well were on one side of the room together. After the fact, she said, "You know, I should have put you on the other side. You have a memory for this stuff." I glowed.

Just like in school, I've become something of a That Kid: That Kid, who has the answers and stands in the front row. That Kid, who knows the routine and can stay on the beat even when the instructors fumble (with their heads full of so many rounds of choreography, I don't blame them for the rare misstep). That Kid, who plays up to the instructors and talks to them after class. Then again, I've shown up pretty much every day for the last couple of months, so why shouldn't I be friendly with the instructors now? It entertains me to be a sort of communication link between them, like when The Kickboxer didn't know that The Other Kickboxer had changed the choreography around, or when The Other Kickboxer didn't know why The Kickboxer had needed a sub (she had a big test). I am just a hub of information!

One of my other favorite parts is the evangelical bit of hauling people to the gym with me. I myself was hauled in the first place by a friend from knitting circle. Now I'm up to four converts. Yesterday, another girl from work came with me. "Is this like Jazzercise?" she asked as the class was about to begin. "Not exactly," I said, trying not to laugh. The Other Kickboxer's mic was broken, so I tried to mumble the cues to my colleague, who did rather well considering she didn't know any of the routine to start with. "That was way harder than I thought it would be!" she said at the end. But she liked it, and maybe she'll come back.

The last best bit is the tangible milestones. When I started doing the turbokick class, I could barely make it through the whole thing. I gasped and wheezed for at least twenty minutes after the first workout. Now my recovery time is down to five minutes, tops, and I'm putting more energy into each session. This week I completed the Fit 5-0 Challenge, which was a program to see who could take 50 hours of fitness classes between the beginning of the semester and the first of May. It's a great feeling to be able to keep up with all those genuine gym gurus. I may not be fabulous yet, but I've toned up a lot in the last couple of months. Wednesday we had a sub who was utterly new to me, who just made up a routine out of her head from bits and pieces of routines she used when she was a personal trainer in Hollywood. It was fast-paced and intense, but I got through it, only slacking off a little here and there. Friday one of the people who I know works out pretty constantly (after all, she hangs out with The Kickboxer, who pretty much lives in the gym) came up to me and we talked about how sore we were the next morning, and how hard the workout had been. It's pretty great to sort of be part of the inner circle of gym-goers now. After all, it's hard to discuss the finer points of muscle fatigue with my knitting circle, as wonderful as they are.

The only bad thing about going to the gym all the time is that I get so set in my preferences. I like a certain corner of the free weights area. I like some of the moves in turbokick better than others. I like certain of the music channels in the weight room much better than others, and try to avoid the attendants who only play rap and metal. Thank goodness the Kickboxer will be back this week: she also teaches my yoga class, and the sub's style is just not at all compatible with what I've come to expect.

turbokick! good for what ails you

They do say that the most fervent believers are the converts. I've been converted to several causes over the years, but recently, I've become a gym evangelical. Yes, me. If you know me, this is somewhat hard to believe, I'd imagine, because lazy would be a good word to describe me, but since I took up this Turbokick (TM) class, I'm hooked. I'm now one of those people who always tries to take people to the gym with her, and it's worked, some. I've gotten a couple of friends to go, and one of my coworkers, and my poor perplexed mother with her arthritic knees. I'm working on the others.

I must be irritating. One of the guys who works downstairs in my bookstore knows my gym schedule now, because I talk about it so much. My friends are well acquainted by proxy now with the deliciously sadistic instructors. But it's really a bright spot in my day, that endorphin rush. Plus I've dropped a couple of pants sizes, so that's not bad either. I almost have a bicep now! One on each side, even. It's quite entertaining for me, who's never been fit, to finally get a taste of what that feels like. I love it.

Plus, now maybe I could defend myself in a dark alley. Uppercut! Roundhouse! I am the Chuck Norris of my bookstore!

Except, of course, for Biceps, whose upper arms are still bigger around than my head, almost.

movie nights!

Last weekend, something completely unprecedented happened. I rented two movies and my family enjoyed both of them.

Granted, it probably had something to do with the fact that it's the time of year when the weather is getting nice and everyone is a little more easily pleased, but I didn't really expect both Enchanted and Dan In Real Life to be hits. My stepdad tends to rent kung fu movies, or action things, or comedies we've seen a hundred times (at one point, I am fairly certain that everyone could quote along with the entirety of Down Periscope). Mom likes things a little more esoteric and enjoys foreign films, but she'll cheerfully watch martial arts. My brother goes for scifi action films and raunchy collegiate comedies. I tend to go for indie and foreign films like the pretentious liberal arts graduate I am, so it was interesting that a partially animated musical and a comedy in the lives-of-quiet-desperation genre (made so popular by Garden State, Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, and another recent Steve Carrell venture, Little Miss Sunshine) actually seemed to please everyone.

Of course, they both have their charms. Enchanted manages to simultaneously subvert and reinforce the Disney standards of love at first sight and the naive but plucky princess' journey from doe-eyed maidenhood to doe-eyed marital bliss. The songs, if not Oscar-worthy, were well-executed. I even managed to suppress my distaste for roaches through the "Happy Working Song". Giselle's series of dresses were too fabulous for words, and Amy Adams does an admirable job of being wide-eyed and cheery but nobody's dupe. My only problems with the movie were first, if you've got Idina Menzel, let her sing, and second, I was never convinced by Patrick Dempsey that he could form an attachment to anyone. But maybe that's just my indifference to McWhatever and his monotone. It would have marred the pacing of the movie to show anything worthwhile about his relationship with Nancy (or her motivations - it was nice to have the cut scene on the DVD showing that she was a hopeless romantic looking for a prince in addition to being a self-motivated, no-nonsense Manhattan fashion designer), but he did seem to fall for Giselle awfully fast when she was asleep on his couch. So much for rationality. It was a little too easy for me, but then again, I have to remind myself that this is a movie marketed to children, and that in a Disney movie, it's always going to be easy to fall in love.

Dan In Real Life was much more grown up. Even if it went along with the love at first sight trope, it was a lot more complicated and satisfying. Steve Carrell as the frustrated widower father of three was funny and warm, and the rest of the family was great too. Besides, it's conceivable to me that no one could resist Juliette Binoche. It's not so believable that everyone loves Patrick Dempsey. The only problem with Steve Carrell movies is when they degenerate into Will Ferrell-style hysterics (though it can't be denied that Carrell does a great histrionic fit, as we've seen on The Office), but the only moment where that happened was the "Put it on my tab" comment to the policeman, which felt believable at the time. Dan In Real Life was sweet and funny, if not laugh out loud hilarious. Ah, the claustrophobia of being around one's large family for a week at a time.

Oddly enough, last night's rental of Kinky Boots was a hit too, though it turned out that everyone had seen it except me. Now we'll have to see if we can continue the trend of finding happy mediums (by which I mean I will impose my movie wishes on the rest of the family and the films I choose will conquer their hearts, or at least entertain them for a while).

hey, nice car!

So Anderson Cooper is coming to speak on Friday, and the bookstore staff are organizing his book signing and hanging out at the reception, which meant that I was running around today papering all the local coffeehouses with charming photos of his dreamy face. When I came out of the last one (my usual hangout, but I wasn't in the mood for coffee this evening with the weather turning rough), a couple of guys were standing on the sidewalk looking at my car.

"Nice car!" said one of them. "That an '81?"
"'83!" I said.
"Nice," he said again, nodding sagely.
"Thanks," I said, and got in and drove away.

Funny thing is, that happens fairly frequently. People who own Volvos like my car a lot. There are a few around town of about the same vintage, big old station wagons with peeling bumper stickers. The other day, I saw one on my way to the gym, and the driver had her window rolled down, so I said, "Nice car!" and she grinned as she went on her way. It's kind of like being in a cult. A cult dedicated to vaguely retro things. If we ever had a meeting, we should probably wear bellbottoms and serve that cheese dip made out of Velveeta. And talk about the latest literary novel, of course. We're Volvo owners.

Lots of people are fond of their cars, sure, but I love my car more than most, I feel. It's been in the family since before I was born, as you can see: Mom bought it new and we've had it ever since. It's two years older than I am, and apart from the occasional cosmetic bit falling off, it runs pretty much like a dream, albeit a dream that is sometimes interrupted by the transmission falling out (hyperbole). For a car that spent a long time in coastal states, the paint job's still pretty good. She's been fairly well-maintained over the years (I suppose only having one owner helps with that, as most Volvos of that era have been bought several times). Of course, it's nicer from the outside. And once you get in, it's hard to get out, since the doors don't much work. But I love it anyway.

The Volvo is the car I grew up in. It's the car I came home from the hospital in. It's the car I learned to drive in (mostly). It is my fat-bottomed car. So there are no air bags and no air conditioning. The heater still works really well, which is a plus, and I've learned how to wedge my coffee mug between the parking brake and the passenger's seat, so everything's groovy, except it could use a radio. I cruise around town with my windows rolled down bellowing Sara Bareilles and gathering all sorts of indie cred. Plus she's easy to find in the parking lot, and no one would ever want to steal her.

Someday (soonish) the Volvo will probably cease to function normally, but knock on wood, that day's a few years off. I know I'll miss her when she's gone.

lists!

Like so many people, I am fond of making lists. So here are a few.

Things of which I am quite fond, at the moment:
01. Turbokick
02. A sunny, warm Saturday, even if I am stuck inside
03. Free tickets to the university production of an Oscar Wilde play
04. Scrabulous
05. Lists

Things that I have at some point claimed not to like, but now enjoy:
01. Broccoli and asparagus
02. Flipflops
03. Exercise
04. Soy products
05. The Facebook newsfeed page

Things that I am trying to like but probably never will:
01. Ankle socks: better than tall socks on bare legs, but with that weird feeling
02. People who come to the library regularly to use the computers and act entitled to being logged in that very minute, even if I am with a patron with an actual question (and they only want to play games and look up local prisoners), after which they take it upon themselves to police everyone else with respect to cellphone and headphone policies

On an unrelated note, what's with Israel and Jewish voters claiming foul if anyone says anything positive about Palestine? Note this, Israel: saying that your policies regarding the way you've totally overrun and continue to oppress Palestine and the Palestinians, most of whom are not involved in Hamas, is not anti-Semitic. It's a political issue, not a religious one, and knock it off.

I watched Juno

So with the Oscars last Sunday, and my knowledge of this year's films anything but nuanced, I was kind of surprised to see Juno in the running for Best Picture. Sure, I loved it, and sure, there was the strike on and all, but really? Best Picture? Isn't that the hallmark of stunning epics and things with lots of violence? I haven't even seen any of the other nominees and it was clear that Juno was not going to win, which it probably shouldn't.

Don't get me wrong. I was charmed. Ellen Page? Delightful. Allison Janney? Exquisite as ever. Rainn Wilson's cameo almost made me burst a seam. I laughed, I nearly cried, I said "aww" at all the appropriate bits, etc. But the problem with Juno is that it doesn't have much of a sense of resolution. I'm not asking for an anti-sex moral, or an anti-abortion moral - I'm not anti either of those things - but we never really saw the consequences of Juno's pregnancy. There were a couple of scenes in the school, but she never really seemed ostracized, or at least not any more ostracized than she had been as the weird girl. She was huge, but she wasn't in much more discomfort than that, and her parents still let her run around all over the place.

Part of Juno's charm is its lightheartedness, but at points it's a little too lighthearted. It doesn't confront the realistic consequences of teenage pregnancies, or the difficulty of finding a good solution. Juno doesn't confront the idea of giving away her child, though the weeping at the end was convincing enough to me.

The other problem is the relationship between the adopting couple - they hardly have any rapport, even at the beginning of the movie. It's a puzzle as to why they're together at all. I couldn't be sympathetic at all to Jason Bateman's character: he's cold at the beginning and a jerk at the end, never getting over the selfishness we see in his first scenes. He was cruel and inappropriate to put the problems in his relationship on Juno's shoulders when her load was already heavy enough for a high school girl. One wonders just what Jennifer Garner ever saw in him.

Juno is a movie I'd gladly watch over and over, but it isn't a Best Picture. Its scope is too limited, and it isn't nearly gory or sweeping enough. The soundtrack is quirky and sweet, but not epically moving. I'm sure No Country For Old Men fit the mold much better.

I was still pleased that Diabolo Cody got the award for best screenplay, but maybe Helen Mirren can teach her what to wear - nobody does classy and non-transparent like Helen Mirren.

fat-phobia

Americans are afraid of fat.

We spend vast amounts of money on gyms and on fat-free foods and diet pills. We get all up in arms if someone calls someone else fat, as seen in this blog post by Dick Cavette, or even the comments to this NYTimes blogpost by Tara Parker-Pope about the importance of fitness in emergencies. Fat people sit around stuffing their faces all day! say some, and nuts to them if they can't get down the stairs! Cruelty! trumpet the others, and how would you feel if someone left you to roast in a fire? Admittedly, Cavett's mention of Nazis and Mafiosos in the same breath as the obese is a little over-the-top, but he's from a generation less likely to grasp for slights and victimizing remarks.

We're a nation of fad dieters and gym rats and couch potatoes, obsessed with celebrities who are thin to the point of appearing malnourished. We get riled up about clothing sizes, about portion sizes, about video games that will supposedly keep us fit. We watch "The Biggest Loser". We tell each other, "Of course you aren't fat!" We're mostly lying.

Why are we afraid to be called fat? In India, salespeople would look me up and down and give me a size bigger than I asked for. "Big size!" they'd insist. The local population was much slimmer. The Indian-American girl on my study abroad program was thrilled that at long last she wasn't being "penalized" by being made to pay the same price for her smaller, less-fabric-intensive clothing. The French didn't care enough to remark on my size, but I had trouble finding jeans that I liked (this did have something to do with the fact that I'm not big on rhinestones or pre-ripping, though).

I'm a fat girl. I've always been a fat girl. At five foot three and 165 pounds, there's no way you could call me normal weight. This is not to say that I'm not healthy - I don't have breathing or joint problems, and my cholesterol levels are fairly enviable. I eat pretty well - not too much, mostly vegetables (I can't help but think that Michael Pollan would be slightly proud and slightly dismayed, given that I'm not an omnivore). I don't have to shop in the plus size section and my BMI doesn't qualify me as obese. I don't consider myself unattractive. The reason I'm overweight is because I'm lazy. It's only in recent weeks that I've started going to the gym regularly. Though I played outside as a kid, it was mostly dreamy introspective games that involved building tiny playgrounds out of twigs and aquarium pebbles, not running and jumping. I wish I'd kept playing soccer after second grade, because it might have instilled some healthier gym habits in me. I wish I could say that I have a grand health plan in mind with all these gym hours, but really I just like the look of my collarbones, and I'd like to be fit enough to be less sweaty when I work out.

I suppose being overweight is something of a vicious circle. It is irritating to go to the gym and see all the skinny girls bouncing along on the ellipticals at two miles an hour, as if they don't have to work at it, or the massive guys heaving massive weights around on their massive shoulders. It is hard to schedule that treadmill time into your day. It isn't entertaining to diet or do crunches. And the heavier you are, the harder it gets to convince yourself to do something about it.

Why are we so afraid to be called fat? Sure, fat kids get bullied. But skinny kids get bullied too, and bookworms, and poor kids, and all sorts of kids. Children are cruel at times. I don't really buy the argument that a bunch of five-year-olds can ruin someone's life forever. Fatness shouldn't imply a lack of mental acuity or a dearth of social skills, but it seems to. Maybe I just didn't experience these damaging taunts because in addition to being the fat girl, I was the smart girl, and you don't want to alienate the person whose help you want with your homework.

Listen up, Americans: we are fat, we do need to get off the couch, and we need to stop playing the victims and acting offended that the rest of the world thinks we're porky, with our Twinkies and our burgers and our spread-out towns that make it inconvenient to walk anywhere. I'm not going to go so far as to say that fat people endanger society, but they do make us a source of (more) amusement for the rest of the world. Sure, some people have gland problems or other health conditions that contribute to their weight, but most don't. It isn't a moral judgment when someone points out that you're overweight. Someone might be implying that your will is weak or your motivation is lacking, but I wouldn't bet that way. Fat is a fact.

Meanwhile, skinny people (and don't think I believe that all of you just have high metabolisms), it's not really your place to be making people feel disgusting and awful. Exposed ribs aren't what I want to see at the beach, so if you and all the celebrities can just eat a sandwich now and again, I think we'll all be better off.

things that annoy me about the gym

As someone who's now at the gym pretty frequently (and will no doubt be at the gym even more when she suddenly has several extra hours of free time in the morning), I have some beefs with my fellow exercisers. No doubt they have beefs with me too, but they don't necessarily have blogs, so nuts to them.

01. What's with wearing makeup to the gym? I come to the gym straight from work and I don't even have on as much makeup as these girls do. In fact, I try to remove it before I get all sweaty, because how is it possibly a plus to have mascara on while you're lifting five pound weights? Seriously. That can't be good for your skin, to have all that stuff getting into your pores. And I know they had time to remove it, because while they all seem to go to class in Victoria's Secret sweatpants, they don't go to class in hotpants or leggings and sneakers.

02. Gym couture. When did it become necessary to have fancy fancy clothes for the gym? I was just showing up in old t-shirts. Now I have a tanktop and yoga pants made out of microfiber or some nonsense, but that's not nearly as fancy as the clothes a lot of the girls wear. Coordinating, specially tailored to be aerodynamic, ergonomic bicycle shorts? And the best part is that they have ruffles on them and cost $50. Actually, I think my favorite part is the tiny tailored coordinating hoodies - why would you want to be more warm while you're kickboxing? And why do so many girls wear hats? It boggles my mind. Not that the men are much better, in their Underarmour and their wifebeaters.

03. People on cellphones. You can't take an hour out of your day to not answer the phone? Also, Women's Health told me that if you can talk while you're on the treadmill or the elliptical, you're not working hard enough. I don't need to hear your conversation about omg the party you, like, went to at that frat or whatever, and I wish your phone weren't turned up loud enough that I could hear the other half of your gossip circuit.

04. Men who look sideways at me when I go to the weights area to do squats or bench press. There's a reason I go to the gym at godawful hours of the morning before it's filled up with sweaty grunting guys. Sure, I don't lift a whole lot, but I'm not going to find a 60 pound barbell in the women's area with the yoga mats and the Bosus, so you just keep on keepin' on, men. I like my muscles too.

05. Aerobics classes where no one gets sweaty. What's the point of that, then?

06. When the attendant in the weight room decides that loud rap is the best thing to play. At least keep it at a volume that doesn't make my ears ring when I try to listen to my super classy Pointer Sisters/musicals/Bollywood workout mix.

cupcake disasters

I'm pretty good in the kitchen. Oddly good in the kitchen, in fact, given that I experiment a lot and hardly ever measure things properly. That only makes the times things turn out badly more of a disappointment, though, when I expect deliciousness and am greeted with something disgusting.

I made the red wine cupcakes again on Monday afternoon. The cupcakes, thanks to my very capable sous-chef R, turned out beautifully. The glazes did not. Because they were so easy the first time, I figured they'd be fine this time. And then I used baking chocolate instead of regular chocolate, so the glaze came out more like a cross between taffy and fudge, all grainy and chewy. It's still sitting in the fridge, oozing that sort of liquor that comes out of dark chocolate and doesn't taste like anything much. I'll figure out something to put it in, I guess, that involves an oven. At least that one came out edible.

The caramel, however, was an unmitigated disaster. I think I didn't cook it over a high enough heat, and the sugar wouldn't brown properly before the water boiled off, so it wouldn't react with the cream, and when I tried to stir the cream in anyway and see if it would reduce, I ended up with a thin, curdled, sugary syrup that I promptly poured down the kitchen sink before it made the whole kitchen reek of sour milk. Good thing I had some goat milk cajeta handy that I could use instead. The ladies at knitting circle appreciated it.

Another delightful case of "Read the Question!". The only saving grace was that we didn't set anything on fire. And warm chocolate cupcakes, I suppose. And that I didn't have to do the dishes.

Oh, well, I guess everything turned out all right after all.

hi-yah!

So, I'm a chubby girl, and in general I'm a lazy girl. I like to go to the gym, but I get a little bored, and I find it hard to stay motivated to go. Ellipticals are fine, but not particularly interesting. The weightlifting section is always full of men. The treadmills are always full and also I tend to overdo it and burn myself out in ten or fifteen minutes. Girl might as well not go to the gym in that case.

But not this week.

Last week, one of the women at knitting circle told me that she'd started doing a Turbokick class at the local gym. It was fun, she said, and I should come along. Since classes are free for university staff, I thought, "Why not?"

Now I'm hooked. I could only go three times this week, and I pouted all yesterday when I had to work late and miss it. Why do I learn about everything so late? I thought it was just a my-gym thing, but apparently there's a whole Turbokick culture. It's a good workout too - kind of a mix of hip-hop and kickboxing. Do that for an hour and tell me your heart rate isn't up. I thought I was going to die after the first class, when I was sore before I even got home (and it's only a ten minute drive). But it was fun, and it was fast-paced, and unlike the regular hip-hop class, everyone was flushed and sweaty, down to the instructor. So I pushed through the pain like a real trooper the next day and lo and behold, it turns out just getting moving will help your aching muscles. And I thought I'd stuffed my brain full of all the knowledge it could use while I was in school.

I don't know why a class gets me to the gym when my own health doesn't. Maybe it's having an on and off gym buddy. Maybe it's being in a whole room full of people punching and kicking and shaking their booties. It does remind me some of my year on dance team. Or maybe it's just that the instructors have enviable bodies and I am convinced that, given a few weeks of jab-cross-hook-uppercut, I'll start to look like them. Just think if I skipped knitting circle and went five nights a week, how fast I'd be fit and fab.

And maybe I'll have a few smooth moves, as long as I don't roundhouse kick anyone in the club.

Super Fat Tuesday!

Ah, Super Tuesday. What more satisfying day for the political junkie? Plenty of candidates, lots of states: much more fun than Election Day, because there's still a satisfying stretch of months.

High school civics classes need to step up their efforts, though, or local news stations do, because apparently many people are wrongly convinced that Super Tuesday is when everyone votes. This ABCnews.com story elaborates on this misconception, though I feel the title of "Dumbocracy" is a little unfair. Super Tuesday is massively hyped and talked about. Other states aren't. The fact that there are primary competitions of some sort until June is hardly discussed at all.

Last time there was a presidential election, I got to caucus in Iowa, which was satisfying. Casting my ballot yesterday was good too. Look at me: I'm in a state which (almost) matters! As if there was ever any doubt that Arkansas would go to Clinton and Huckabee. Still, I was glued to cnn.com's Election Center all night, just for the thrill of it.

This year's goign to be a corker, and no doubt about it. Hard-fought Democratic primaries! The right wondering whether it ought to gnaw its arm off rather than support McCain! Drama drama drama! It's almost a good thing that there's a writers' strike on - all the networks have to offer is election coverage (and reality tv, but let's be serious: I'd rather see a candidate catfight, even if there aren't bikinis or proposals of marriage). On the other hand, no Indecision 2008, or little of it. Can't win them all, as the candidates have learned.

Although maybe somebody could have swept it, if only they'd started flashing for votes in the grand tradition of Mardi Gras. Show us something!

ready for some football?

So it's Super Bowl Weekend, and I even know who's playing this year. That's an accomplishment, given that I'm one of those pretentious twits who sniff and say, "I prefer real football," meaning soccer, but that's what comes of trying to talk sports with a bunch of French high schoolers whose football is played with round balls by handsome men in shorts with no helmets. Despite my year on dance team in junior high, I never really picked up the fundamentals of the game (by which I mean I didn't understand what downs were), but once it was explained to me, I found it much more stimulating.

This year I'm excited because my default team to cheer for is in the Bowl! Hooray! I know nothing about football, quarterbacks, running backs, and the merits of the various teams, but by God, if the Patriots are playing, I'll cheer for them. I am not sure why this is, whether I liked their uniforms or whether it all started because my little brother liked the Patriots, but I am all over it now. I even know who Tom Brady is (admittedly, mostly because they did a piece on national morning news the other day about how everyone had a mancrush on Tom Brady, except when they polled people on the street, they didn't explain the term mancrush, so everyone denied it at the risk of looking randomly gay, and anyway, he's still not doing as well as Jesus).

It's weird that I never thought about football much until I went abroad. I missed hearing the marching bands practice. I missed the games being on in the background. So I went to a few of the home games this year, despite the fact that I'd not been to a college football game since the tender age of four or so, and that was just the end of an LSU game. Now I almost know what a running back is (with DMac and Felix Jones around, who could help it?), but my appreciation of the game is rather limited to enjoying watching muscled men fling themselves into heaps over a piece of leather, and also trash-talking the other team, even if my insults are more along the lines of, "Your understanding of differential equations lacks nuance! You wouldn't know a trochaic foot if it bit you!"

My Superbowl Sunday will mostly entail waiting for House to come on post-Bowl, but! The Patriots are going to crush the Giants and I don't care who knows it. After all, I'm fairly certain that the Giants couldn't replicate Rutherford's gold foil experiment with a lunchbox, a sheet of paper, and a rubber ball.

For that, you need Quiz Bowl.

this is not a food blog

Though this is not a food blog, I do tend to spend a lot of time thinking about food and making food, so I might as well do a food entry. There have been two birthdays this month in my department at work, and so I set out to establish myself as the master baker, as if the pumpkin scones all autumn didn't prove that.

For the guitar-playing cashier, I made Dulcedo's Red Wine Cupcakes, because they sounded too delicious not to try. Indeed, they were, and beautiful besides - somewhere around I've got a photo that I'll add. I baked them in a rush one day after work because my family wanted a glass of wine, and I wanted them to be fresh (the recipe warns that they can go stale easily). Warm out of the oven, they were heavenly: biting into them gave a strong breath of merlot, and the caramel and chocolate drizzled over the top was melty and perfect. They were good when they cooled off too, but without the hit of tannins. The wine flavor was much more subtle, though the chocolate flavor was much stronger, as I actually had time to frost them when they wouldn't melt.

Bosslady wanted something chocolate too, so I went for the Starbucks Cinnamon Chocolate Bread, which has been a hit even though I burned it around the edges. It was rich and crumbly on this slushy day, and there's only the burned end left since the cashiers went to town on it. I added a little chili powder to the topping, because I like my dishes with a bite to them. If it hadn't been for a pregnant woman, I probably would have added some coffee, too. It's a little dryer than I expected, given the sheer volume of butter, but that's a poundcake characteristic, I suppose. Ought to have tea with it or something.

I'm thinking my next baking project will be less chocolately. For my birthday, I'm imagining Raspberry Eggplant's Mango Kulfi Cupcakes, though I'd probably modify the frosting, since I despise meringue (except for the crunchy fruity meringue macaroons I got in Lille). Good plan.

John Edwards, we hardly knew ye (except your family's history of working in mills)

Poor Giuliani. This morning's NYTimes Online had a big photo of him and McCain and a huge headline about how Giuliani was dropping out and endorsing McCain.

Then, of course, John Edwards' bowing out leaked, and suddenly the big photo was a large and flattering shot of Edwards looking patriotic and vivacious. After all, Giuliani is a has-been now and McCain is so old he's practically dead. Why not show Edwards? Hey, maybe someone will make him the VP candidate again? There's no denying he's great at shaking hands and kissing babies, and I imagine he's got a little less pride on that score than either Clinton or Obama would have if the other extended that sort of invitation.

Ah well. Got to love the American political system. Just think! Only a few days more until Super Tuesday, which will no doubt perpetuate a knockdown dragout fight until the end of August! Then another knockdown dragout fight until the beginning of November! Joy of joys.

I watched Walk Hard

I ended up going to the movies a lot more than usual while my other best friend was home. This isn't surprising; I really only go to the movies with people, and when most of my friends have moved away. I think that until I went to see August Rush in November, the last movie I had seen in the theatre was Ratatouille. Then in the space of a few weeks, I saw I Am Legend, Walk Hard, and Juno. At least I know where the new cinema is now.

Anyway. Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story is not the kind of thing I would usually pick to go see. It's like a Will Ferrell movie, only without Will Ferrell (and while he's got some chops, I don't like his comedies much). The blatant innuendo in the title alone would be enough to turn me off the film. But I like John C. Reilly, I like it even better when he sings, and The Office (US) has awakened me to the charms of Jenna Fischer, so I said yes.

There were parts of the movie that amused me. Mostly the absolute hyperbole: the grown man masquerading as a fourteen-year-old, the woman playing his twelve-year-old girlfriend, the way that it all got worked into some expository dialogue. It was almost surreal, the way they discarded any pretense at realism. A song gets written on the spot, the musicians are so hip to the jive that they're able to play along, and within 35 minutes (thanks, DJ Exposition!), it's topping the charts! Amazing! I can get down (somewhat) with a movie that doesn't take itself seriously.

Despite Jenna Fischer's cleavage, the movie did drag on a bit. The whole-life approach meant a bunch of costume changes and a little bit of aging makeup, which was interesting, but I felt that the lessons could have been learned in much less time. Dewey Cox is no David Bowie, to go through a hundred phases and still be interesting. He wasn't that interesting in the first place. I liked the band members all right; they got short-shrifted in all kinds of ways.

The movie doesn't quite go far enough to be true parody, but I did enjoy the self-aware moments. And I'll admit it, I laughed at some of the cheaper gags, but more in "They did what?" shock and half-horror than in true entertainment. But then, I'm pretty hard to please when it comes to comedies.

Overall, I don't really regret seeing it, but I wouldn't see it again in the theatre. I might watch bits and pieces if it were on within earshot, but mostly for the novelty of seeing Jenna Fischer all dolled up. And maybe for the fake Beatles. That part was funny.