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.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Saturday, April 5, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, March 29, 2008
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).
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).
Sunday, March 2, 2008
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.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
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.
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.
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