Quodlibets

On a break

Every time I hear the phrase "on a break", the voice of Ross Gellar screams "We were ON A BREAK" in my head.  That's how you know I'm a pop-culture whore.

And although this is probably a little bit evident due to the scarcity of posts, I am in fact on an organized blog break.  Two weeks, at the minimum.  I have nothing to say, and I feel like unless you're Dooce, the blog is getting sad when you start talking about farting.  So until whenever.  Have a good midsummer and 4th, people.  I plan to.

Be Skinny! Men LOOOOVE It!

Have ya seen these:

The tag line for these ads:  "Forget about it.  Men's preference will never change.  Fit Light Yogurt."

These ads are possibly some of the most revolting I've ever seen.  Not because of the pictures, which I actually think are quite beautiful, especially the gorgeous, gorgeous (and probably, sadly, airbrushed) girl laying in the roses, but because of the tag line, which makes me want to hurl and scream and throw things at whoever approved this ad.  It's not an American ad, so you're not going to see it here, thank god. 

It's just that old thing rearing its ugly head: fat girls can't be pretty and they can't look good and they only eat decadent full fat yogurt.  (Of course, full fat yogurt is SOOOO bad for you, and will immediately pork you up.  Ha.)  It's just so galling that someone thought these images would be revolting to men....or did they?  Possibly they're just trying to make girls find them revolting, which isn't hard to believe at all, because I think women actually fear and hate fat more than men do.  Sam's never, ever made a peep about me that way, and in fact goes out of his way to adore me and compliment me and it's me who hates my body, not him.  This ad, actually, is extraordinarily effective, because it skews how women think, making them believe that men find these images revolting.  Which come to think of it, I'm not at all sure they would.

It's pretty sad the head job that's being done on women, making them feel fat when they're not, making them feel ugly when they're not, and in general putting an artificial pressure on them to look like an anorectic.  I fight it every single damn day, and I'm fighting against society and myself, but you know, I'm not fighting against Sam, or most men even.  I don't have any reason to believe, astonishingly enough, that men wouldn't find me attractive just as I am now.  Only I think I'm an ugly piggy.  These ads?  Feeding that.  And it makes me sad.

More (and more intelligence) on this at Feministe and Pound.

Jarring

You know what's jarring?  You're listening to your iPod--some Pearl Jam, Led Zeppelin, Beatles, etc--rock music, essentially, and then blaaaaamo: "Why do birds suddenly appear every time you are near?  Just like me, they long to be, close to you."

Yes, the Carpenters.  I do like the Carpenters, I really do.  I think Karen Carpenter has the voice of an angel, alright?  She just sounds so beautiful and heartbreaking and all that stuff. 

But there is most definitely a time and a place for the Carpenters, and I'm not sure that immediately following Pearl Jam is one of them.  I can't really think of what time and place calls for the Carpenters (though I used to LOVE to surreptitiously slip a Carpenters CD into the player at the Music Info desk when I worked at the bookstore, just to see the looks on my male co-workers faces [I was the only female in the music department, I believe] when 'Close to You' started.  Or on a Saturday night, when I was alone in music, I would put it on and pretend that I could sing just like Karen Carpenter, at the top of my lungs.  I'm telling you, customers liked it when the staff went around singing.), but I promise you, there is a time. 

Also, and this is completely unrelated and really, really gross, but you know what else is jarring?  To realize that even though you're sort of in your own little compartment in a fitting room, farting in one isn't a good idea, after you've already done it.  And here's why: because no matter how long you're in there, someone else has to come get the clothes you've left in there, and it's really just not very nice to leave them a big stinking present.  So...um yeah, I'm sorry, women (and one man) who works at that women's clothing chain store at that mall I went to yesterday.  I'll never fart in a fitting room again.  Or maybe it's that I'll TRY not to fart in a fitting room again.  Whoops.

Yes, that two foot long present IS a salami.

I don't know if you all caught my dad's comment on the last post, but the answer is yes, we did give my dad a salami for father's day.  A really expensive, absolutely delicious salami.  (We had a little salami tasting after the gift giving.)  It's hard to figure out what to get a guy that has almost everything ever he could possibly want, and so the gifts are getting more esoteric.  A salami.  Yes, a salami.

Next year, it'll be even weirder, I'm sure.

Poojie Day (and my birthday)

28 years ago, I was born on Father's Day.  I happen to think that I was the best Father's Day present ever, because dude!  I'm the gift that keeps on giving. 

Just kidding.  And actually, I'm probably the gift that takes the most work.  So...thanks dad, for putting up with me.  And have a happy father's day, golfing in the extreme heat.  I'm going to stay indoors.  Happy birthday to me, happy father's day to you.

Saturday in the Summer

What were we doing this time last year?  Prepping for a move, most likely.  We knew where we were going to be living, but I think we both felt a good deal of trepidation about what living in the city would be like.  Sam was going to be leaving a job and there was no guarantee that he'd have one in the city.  I was nervous about the commute, and about living in a place that would be less safe than a suburb.  But it's all worked out pretty nicely, if I do say so myself.

Now, we're sorting of just bumming around on a very hot Saturday.  Don't get me wrong, we've got things to accomplish--groceries, picking up some things from the framers (one of our framed photographs by Sam slipped off its hinge inside the glass, and needed to be fixed; also, we had a small watercolor from Italy to have framed)--and we've also done a lot already this morning--farmer's market (broccoli!  lettuce!  tomatoes!) and laundry.  But we're also blessedly free from obligations tonight, and all this afternoon.  There's no great rush to get anything done, because we have time.  It's interesting.

I'm watching golf, too.  TV is a wasteland on Saturday afternoons all year 'round, but even more pronouncedly today, and the Open is a major, and I've never minded watching the majors, especially since I've read so much about them.  And I'm doing some cross-stitching, which sort of demands something to watch--stitching and listening to music is no good.  So golf it is. 

Does this sound like a lazy day?  I don't know, but it sure feels good.

Push Me/Pull You

In the 9 month period leading to Sam's and my relationship, when we were sort of negotiating a friendship, I never pushed him, ever.  I mean, I moved carefully around his comfort zones and made sure that I didn't step over any lines, or push him too far or hard.  I don't have very many crazy comfort zones--maybe the worst one of mine is the whole non-touching thing, and he wasn't so touchy, as a friend--so it was fine.  But it was definitely a concious decision on my part to not do anything to push, because he was a very, very shy and timid person back then, and I didn't want to make him uncomfortable around me, especially if I was trying to build a relationship.  It was a smart move on my part, because what it ended up doing was allowing him to trust me and we built this friendship that turned into this nice relationship we've got going now.

Which is ironic, because all I do now is push push push.  I've made it my habit to push and pull him out of his comfort zones over and over again.  And I'll probably keep pushing him, because it's been really good for both of us.  He never would have taken the initiative to move to the city, I don't think, without my desperate desire to.  He's sort of charming, actually, in that he's almost always content wherever he is.  Seriously.  His mom told me that he was a late crawler, because she would sit him down and he was so happy wherever he was, that he never had the urge to crawl.  That really hasn't changed.  He's generally happy and content, and so it's my job to push--both of us. 

I guess, in some ways, he got suckered into this relationship with this calm, laissez-faire person, and actually ended up with a problem girlfriend.  Okay, that's not fair.  He knew from the beginning that I was an assertive person, and it's not like I hid it.  I just didn't push HIM.  I pushed and pulled everyone else around me.  So there's no way he didn't sort of know what was coming.  And anyway, I only push when he really  needs it.  That's what I tell myself, anyway. 

Odds/Ends

I don't have any coherent thoughts to present to you this morning.  Only some things I've been thinking.  First of all, the cicadas, they are taking over the world.  Yesterday, I walked to the public library on a break, and they were everywhere, flying all around, annoying the crap out of me.  I became convinced that they were landing on my back, and that's just gross.  Furthermore, I became convinced one flew into my bag on the way out yesterday, and thus became worried it was going to fly out in my apartment and crawl on me in my sleep.  I never said I wasn't crazy.  And actually, a cicada did come into my car the other day, on the way home.  Sufffice it to say, I'm driving around this town with all my windows closed, no matter how nice the day.  The dead cicadas, too, they are everywhere.  The sidewalk directly in front of the public library is like a cicada graveyard; they're so big too, big bug corpses everywhere.  So you don't want to step on them (I still haven't stepped on one, for fear of the crunch and ooze), and you can sometimes hardly walk without stepping on one and you know, it's just icky.  And then this morning, I saw a fat lot of ants surrounding a dead cicada and ripping off pieces of it and carrying those pieces away.  Who knew ants ate dead cicada?  I wish they would get to work on the cicadas surrounding the public library.  I'm done with these damn 17-year cicadas.  They're no longer interesting or neat, they're just a pain in my ass.

What else?  I'm trying desperately to not like Amy Winehouse, and it's not working.  All the hype, you know, has a way of making me feel contrary.  I saw her perform on the MTV movie awards (watched in desperate hope that Sarah Silverman could make them legit again, but of course, even a respectable comedienne can't make a 2-hour shill-fest interesting), and you have to grudgingly concede that she's got some pipes, this girl.  The rehab song, which still seems in bad taste to me for some reason, is appealing because her voice is incredible.  She seems like a mess in real life, but seriously, her voice!  And then Sam and I were perusing the Lollapalooza website, and happened upon a section of the site where you can listen to a snippet of a song by each artist, and the Winehouse song on there was not the rehab song, and I said, regretfully I'm sure, "I think it's time to admit that I would probably love that album."  Et voila, I do.  It's very conciously some sort of retro-sounding thing--I almost think of Motown when I listen to it, which again, I'm sure is the intention.  I want to hate it.  But it's too good to hate it. 

I bought a Lolla one-day ticket yesterday (Sunday, of course), and now I'm thinking I'll have to mosey over there earlier than I would otherwise, so I can catch her live.  I've read some, um, derisive things about her live performances, but if I have the ticket, I may as well, right?  The only thing is, I'm not sure I can convince Sam to go for her performance.  He bought a three-day pass, and he'll be exhausted by Sunday, I'm sure.  He's mostly going on Sunday for "Mecca" as he describes it, which is the long long long Pearl Jam performance.  And leading up to PJ is first Kings of Leon (I'm pretty excited about this) and My Morning Jacket (which I'm going to attempt to like outside, seeing as I can't stand seeing them live inside), which is just about heaven for Sam.  My little brother is going to do all three days with Sam, though I'm guessing that over the course of the weekend, they'll end up hanging out with other people that we know, and possibly even some of Jim's friends.  Really, that should be an interesting weekend, especially if Jim decides to stay at our place those two nights.  And my high school reunion is that weekend.  Yikes.  Though I don't feel nearly as conflicted about that reunion as I did about the college one.  Mostly, I feel pretty confident that I'll sit in a corner and make fun of people.  You know I hate to have those superficial "what are you doing?" "No what are you doing?" conversations.  And I refuse to subject Sam to a bunch of people I don't really care about.  Whatever that says about me.  And anyway, Lolla is very important to him.

I just realized that there is no point to this post at all, except that it's beginning to drone on, mostly because blogging makes me look busy, and it's killing time.  Two great reasons to blog, I'm sure.  I'll put us out of our misery now, and stop.

Wishlist: Food

On Serious Eats, one of the discussion questions from the last week was this: what food do you wish you liked, but don't?  For me, a few things sprang to mind immediately:

--Sushi.  I just don't like wasabi or seaweed.  Both things instantly produce a gag-reflex in me, and so although I love sushi rice, and I love raw/seared/cooked fish, and I love almost all veggies, there is very little in the way of sushi/sashimi that I will eat.  I once had a piece of sushi that wasn't wrapped in seaweed, and I really liked it.  But those are few and far between, and one of the things those sorts of rolls are often wrapped in is:
--Salmon.  Pretty much every restaurant I've ever been to has salmon on the menu, and I abhor it.  I love fish, but not this one.  I can't tell you the number of times I've salivated over a dish's preparation, only to be unable to order it because it was made with salmon.  And, salmon is one of the most easily available fishes to buy and cook at home.  But ewwww.
--Cilantro.  There's that whole soapy cilantro thing, which, if I have right, is some sort of genetic thing.  Some people taste cilantro as they're tasting soap.  I think that's pretty disgusting, but I can't tell you that I taste soap when I eat cilantro.  But I do absolutely HATE it.  I never put it in recipes I cook at home, and if at all possible I avoid ordering it in general in restaurants, or ask to have it removed from a dish.  I don't think this is rare.  Sam doesn't like it either, and I don't think I'd be hard-pressed to easily find two handfuls of people who hate it, just in my immediate vicinity.
--Blue Cheese.  You know how many delicious-looking salads come with blue cheese?  A lot.  And I know a TON of people who love blue cheese--my dad and mom's mom for starters--and what it adds to salads.  In fact, the other night at our anniversary dinner out, there was a beet salad (yum!) with a vinegarette (yum!) garnished with blue cheese (oops, no thanks!).  And any time a steak or burger comes with it, I want to cry, because I like those things, and I don't like that other thing they're putting on top of it.  And there's that chopped salad at Portillo's, which is scrumpdiddilyumptious, minus the cheese of course.

I think these are things I won't ever grow into liking, either.  Some things you do (like broccoli and bananas, in my case), and some things are just beyond the reach of your tastebuds.  I'm convinced.   I've been trying to think of other things to add to this list, but this might be the only things that I don't like that I want to like.  I haven't tried enough shellfishy items to include those (I will say, scallops ew.  But I don't feel particularly sad about not liking them, either.) things, and I like almost every vegetable known to man (even brussels sprouts and lima beans), so I can't really find any of those to include.  I don't mind not liking mango or papaya, as there seem to be plenty of other fruits to go around, and I'm not feeling dreadful about not being able to order those things in restaurants.  So, hmmm.  I'll keep thinking. 

Meanwhile, what do you wish you liked?

5 5 5 5 5

Yep, it's today.  Today is Sam and my five-year anniversary.  I say the same thing every year--who knew?  And, I'm so lucky.  The impulse to say both things is still in me.  I still sometimes marvel at the idea that we're together five years after our first, strange upside-down kiss.  And I still do feel lucky, lucky that someone I liked very much somehow liked me too, enough to kiss me and embark on a relationship with me.  Then again, he had NO idea what he was in for.

He's my best friend, and he's my lover, and he's everything to me.  It's sappy and it's probably icky for some of you to think about, and when else do I say it this way?  I hope we're lucky enough to have a lifetime of 5-year anniversaries.  So, happy anniversary to us.  Five years ago tonight.