All posts by ester

bowling, life in new york, swatties

I <3 NYC

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At 3:15, I was told, my new office would adjourn to a nearby bowling alley, where we would commemorate the imminent departure of a coworker. At 3:45, the first wave of us actually made it out and walked fifteen blocks in the sunshine to the posh lanes hidden on the second floor of Port Authority.

By 6:15, we had played five games, drunk a tower of beer, chomped through several suprisingly-good pizzas, completed the Times crossword puzzle, dropped two balls, broken several nails, and had a rollicking good bonding experience. I was particularly satisfied, having improved: I went from losing the first game, to coming in second, to, finally, the third time around, coming in first.

THAT’S RIGHT BABY. I went from zero to hero, from Sarah Palin to Stephen Colbert, in the course of one short afternoon. And for my perserverance I now have “bowler’s wrist.” This is an affliction that may be specific to Jews. It’s unclear.

This weekend, after some agonizing, I decided to ditch my five year reunion. Instead I did Only In New York things: lounged on Governor’s Island with the Jazz Age partiers; followed brunch at Dizzy’s with a long stroll through Park Slope; poked about in a little, overpriced boutique staffed by an extravagantly fey man in a Dolce and Gabana bandanna, etc.

Unfortunately skipping out on Swat did mean that I went the entire weekend without asking any of the questions I had prepared, like:

  • “So, what’s your thesis about?”
  • “How many blind Zambian orphan girls would you say your organization has saved?”
  • “What’s it like to study with Judith Butler?”
  • “Will you please tell me more about making tofu by hand?”
  • “Your halo is so great — where did you get it?”
movies, twilight

"Hold on tight, Spidermonkey!": a meditation on ‘Twilight’

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Gone are the days of Anne Rice. She has found her lord and savior, and she has turned her back on the vampires she once tended to so lovingly.

Now, I never begrudge anyone a good rebirth (or two, in the case of Robert Zimmerman). But Anne Rice left behind her a void that lesser folks have struggled — and failed — to fill. True Blood is said to be campy and silly; everyone shudders at the idea of a new Buffy movie; and then, of course, there’s Twilight, the international sensation.

The four books of the saga have twee names and covers that could have been designed by the staff at Hot Topic. That’s more or less all I know about them, having never opened one; and if the writing is as over-ripe as the movie, that’s all I ever need to know.

Lord, this movie. Have uncorseted bosoms ever heaved so dramatically? Have two sets of eyes ever stared so beseechingly into each other? Have vampires ever seemed so ridiculous? And I do mean ridiculous. The “good” vampires — a set of clean-cut, wealthy, thoroughly creepy Aryans in pancake makeup — have to stay hidden from view on sunny days. Why? Because they turn into David Bowie. Whereas poor Kirsten Dunst and her nurse were reduced to ash in seconds in Interview with the Vampire, and their equivalent bursts into flames in Let the Right One In, in Twilight the undead merely sparkle.

Other rules broken by these “good” vampires: they have reflections; they seem unfazed by garlic; and they can enter new spaces without being invited. What is the point, I ask you, of well-understood genre conventions if they are overthrown without so much as an explanation?

There are of course “bad” vampires, a crew of multi-culti, gender-nonspecific hippies who escaped from the recent Shakespeare in the Park production of Hair. These vampires seem quite sexual, whereas the others aren’t; they also attack humans, while the superior creatures restrict themselves to animals (and then have the gall to call themselves vegetarian). It’s the culture wars of the 60s all over again.

Here is the crux of the books’ and the movie’s appeal, as I understand it: though Bella and Edward are so into each other and so horny that their sexual tension made me need to pause and get some air, they cannot consummate their passion. It’s all titillation and no release, presumably because if Edward were to physically love Bella, he would have to kill her. (Why? Who knows? He may be a vampire but he’s also a teenage boy and they are NOT TO BE TRUSTED.) Still, as a viewer I felt like echoing Jeneane Garofolo in Reality Bites after she has suffered through the thousandth Winona Ryder-Ethan Hawke bantering session: “Just do it and get it over with already!”

The alternatives offered by the movie — lying down in a meadow, holding hands, tearing another vampire to pieces and burning his body in a ballet studio — are unintentionally hilarious, as is most of the dialogue (“About three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him, and I didn’t know how dominant that part might be, that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.”).

For all that, it was the Indians-as-werewolves that were the tipping point.

bias watch, race

Bias watch: Day 2

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Dana Milbank makes an ass of himself in today’s Post describing the woman who may be America’s Next Top Jurist:

In selecting Sotomayor, Obama opted for biography over brain. As a legal mind, Sotomayor is described in portraits as competent, but no Louis Brandeis. Nor is Sotomayor, often described as an abrasive jurist, likely to be the next Earl Warren. But her bio is quite a hit. In Spanish, her surname can be translated as “big thicket” — and that’s just where Republicans could find themselves if they oppose this up-from-poverty Latina.

Who says she’s not brainy? Well, no one that Milbank can name, but why let fact intrude on this lovely fictional narrative. Who describes her as abrasive? Duh, PEOPLE. You know, smart people, with titles and experience and everything. Just trust me on this, says Milbank. As I’m sure many folks will.

Let’s make a song, shall we? Then we can sing it in response to anyone who claims that this brilliant, accomplished woman is merely Ghetto Barbie (comes with a briefcase!).

The song will begin:

Princeton U! Yale Law!
ADA for Morganthau!
Princeton U! Yale Law!
ADA for Morganthau!

Okay, that’s more of a chant. No one ever accused me of being Bob Dylan. (Bob Dylans out there: help?) I am accusing Milbank of willful deceit, however, unless he can back up his demeaning, offhand assertions that there is nothing to Sonia but dark skin and a good bio. God, I hate this nonsense.

America, DC, faux gender theory, politix

"… ladies."

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A Cambridge student athlete has made it to the finals in the Miss East Anglia competition, precursor to the Miss England pageant. Is this more or less shocking than a Hispanic woman who grew up in the projects getting a Supreme Court nomination? Check out the picture below and weigh in.

This is a toughie. Let’s hear comments from the peanut gallery:

“Slim women – not anorexic – look better than fat blobby women. Get over it. If that weren’t true, people wouldn’t prefer them, would they?”

An excellent point, since “people” do objectively “prefer” the slim over the blobby, and we know this from detailed examinations of everything since the dawn of time. Thank you, John Stern from London.

What about Sonia Sotomayor, a Puerto Rican from the Bronx: could she really hold her own on America’s highest bench? Educationally, she has scaled some very high ivy walls, graduating from

Princeton University, summa cum laude, in 1976, where she won the Pyne Prize, the highest general award given to Princeton undergraduates.[7] Sotomayor obtained her J.D. from Yale Law School in 1979, where she was an editor of the Yale Law Journal.

Still, surely there’s a more qualified white man in the wings who is being overlooked simply for the sake of color? Again, speak, O peanut gallery!:

“This country has taken a dangerous shift away from the basic tenets of our Constitution , and instead of seizing the opportunity to right that ship, we get another poor choice designed to placate the masses.

Randy Barnett would have been a much better choice.

Unfortunately, being white and male,he didn’t have much of a chance from the start.”

SO TRUE, SgNews. Btw, who is Randy Barnett?

the Austin B. Fletcher Professor of Law at Boston University, where he served as the faculty adviser for the Federalist Society. He joined the faculty of Georgetown University Law Center in 2006. Barnett is a Senior Fellow of the Cato Institute and the Goldwater Institute. … In 2009, he drafted the Bill of Federalism, 10 proposed amendments to the US Constitution designed to limit federal power and strengthen individual rights.

In other words, he’s the Ron Paul candidate for the bench! I can’t believe Obama didn’t pick him. Of course, it wasn’t his Libertarian views, his involvement with the Federalist Society, Cato Institute, or Goldwater Institute that held him back; it was his sex and his race, which as we all know are a serious barrier to advancement in America.

For more, because there is always more, see here and here.

Honestly, I am as shallow, judgmental, and quick to stereotype as anyone else who has grown up in this flawed society, and both of these women strike me as eminently qualified for their positions. I wish them the best. With all this criticism from all sides, though, is it any wonder women say they are less happy than they used to be? (Also, did anyone running that study consider that perhaps women feel allowed to be more honest these days?)

employment, job search

I am job (rather than Job)

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I still don’t know what I’m doing for the rest of my life, but I do know what I’ll be doing starting in June. I will be paid money to work with artsy, lefty Jewish intellectuals in a non-profit on the top floor of a midtown office building.

~

Chris: How did I know it would be Jewish or Feminist?
Me: Well, all the gay male snarky jobs were taken.

~

For the third time in five years, I will begin a job on 6/15. Eerie, huh? The vernal equinox loves me like Barney, like Jesus, like a dog that’s just been fed. The autumnal equinox is another story, of course. An R-rated horror story like Saw IV: The Sawiest Yet, So Sawy You Won’t Have Any Fingers Left By The Time We’re Done With You. Somehow I have offended the autumnal equinox and I have to figure out a way to make amends. Is it because I make fun of Christmas?

This job gives me all the Jewish holidays off!

~

Adam: So nice for you to have a chance to get in touch with your jewish heritage.

~

Meanwhile I will enjoy my last precious and increasingly warm hours of freedom, knowing, to my great relief, that there is some stability around the corner.

health, politix, quotent quotables

Klutziness

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Can stress make you clumsier? In the last couple days, I’ve dropped things, stumbled, spilled water on a friend, cut myself in a very sensitive region, and nearly gotten hit by a car. The worst incident came at the end of my second interview yesterday. I bid farewell to the nice crowd of people who had been quizzing me, then strode gracefully through the lobby and straight into a glass door.

“Oh!” gasped the three women nearby. “Are you okay?”

I was, luckily. Nothing was broken: not my nose, not the glass. I did however leave a perfect kiss on the door, as though I’d planted it there on purpose.

In general I am not a klutz, because I am neurotic about not hurting myself. Even when I kid, I just sort of knew: Do this, and you could die; and as you don’t want to die ere you become a famous writer, leave ice skating / roller coasters / black diamond slopes to the masses of future unknowns (or future deads). The closest I’ve come to a broken anything is when I twisted my ankle before my debut as Tzeitel in my 7th grade production of Fiddler on the Roof.

My mom took me to the ER, where a nervous young doctor fussed over me for a while and then finally took an x-ray. Several minutes later, he tracked me down in the waiting room and said, “I’m sorry, I messed up. Can we try again?”

The second time was also a flop, and he looked more pale as he asked for a third go-round. But when he came out the last time, he looked like he had just seen the Ghost of Christmas Future and it had told him his fate was to end up a dentist. He gestured for me to follow him to a corner a discreet distance from everyone else.

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” he asked the thirteen-year-old me.

“Um, no,” I said, wondering what the hell the x-ray had shown.

“Phew!” he said, the color flooding back to his cheeks. “Because we would have killed the baby.”

Speaking of both clumsiness and inept professionals, the Daily News reports that an Arkansas state senator named Hedren has made an art of putting his foot in his mouth. First he called Chuck Shumer “that Jew.” Now he’s trying to make things right in the most hilarious way possible:

Defending himself again to the Arkansas News, Hendren went further, saying he didn’t know why the words “that Jew” came out of his mouth. He added that there is a Jewish person he admires — Jesus. He’s also partial to Connecticut Sen. Joe Lieberman.

family

Estates

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I’ve been in DC for a while, being with and, to the extent possible, taking care of my father. He was hospitalized with pneumonia and sepsis last week, which, on top of the maybe-inoperable pancreatic cancer, seems like overkill. So to speak. He was released and sent home finally but remained very weak.

Yesterday, he called for me from his favorite chair and when I went in, he didn’t need me to fix the TV or get him another Vitamin Water. He wanted to talk about his estate.

The only thing worse than thinking about death is thinking about the intersection of death and money.

Pots, books, jewelry, art. What did I want? What are things worth? How should they be sold? I started welling up almost immediately so he couldn’t really look at me while he gave instructions.

“I’m sorry to make you sad,” he said.

“I’m not crying,” I retorted. “I’ve got heavenly dust in my eyes.”

On Sunday, my mom heard from another woman in the building that there was a garage sale of sorts going on downstairs. She and I and Mr. Ben, who had come down for the weekend, all trooped to the fifth floor, where we found a tall, tired man selling his mother’s things. “She was very smart,” he told anyone who asked, while they picked up pillows or kitchenware. “PhD in Chemistry. Fluent in French.”

The neighbors said, “She didn’t suffer, God forbid?”

He said, “No. No, she didn’t suffer.”

I discovered I loved her jewelry. None of it was valuable, but it was eye-catching and funky. The rings fit me perfectly. Looking around, I could almost conjure up an image of this little Egyptian doctor, puttering around an apartment filled with rugs and tablecloths, books and colorful dishes. All three of us left with our arms full and our hearts overflowing for a man who had to spend Mother’s Day watching strangers bear his mother’s life away.

My father has always been morbid, so it is hard to know whether when he says he has “months” he can be trusted. The word blasted through me regardless. There is space between the words “sick” and “dying,” important space, space I want to curl up in for the next decade at least. With a puppy, if I can arrange it, and maybe a child. The idea of losing a parent makes me irrational. I want the book published, a beautiful baby born, a bank account full of money to display, all to say, See? You don’t need to worry. Everything’s fine. Everything’s fine. You’ve given me all I need already.

Instead of sleeping last night, I re-read Little Women and cried so hard this morning I had a nosebleed. But I’m okay. I’m trying to be okay. Please don’t ask me how my father is.

health

Things Anemia Has Driven Me To

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1) Toasted Oatmeal Flakes from Trader Joe’s. Man they’re good! I gave them up when Mr. Ben and I moved to Park Slope; we joined the Co-op, which is the closest I’ll ever get to being part of Skull & Bones, and I started buying Puffins instead.

Puffins, though lovely, have no iron, while TOF are whoa-fortified. And delicious.

2) Avoiding sharp objects.

3) Femme pride. There’s something dainty and sweet about being anemic, like having consumption. Maybe it’ll make me sexier!

The doctor was testing me for something else entirely, but I was in exemplary shape except for being low on the red blood cells. This struck me as funny, as though he had said, “The government is doing great, except that the President has just been shot.” I mean, aren’t red blood cells rather the whole point? Aren’t they what blood is made of? I don’t remember too much from what I learned in high schools, except words like Hemoglobin and Platelets, but I’m pretty sure …

Anyway, if I’m wrong, please don’t correct me. I may be too delicate to handle it.

conversion, politix, the SiF

"i just don’t dig on swine"

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This SiF hysteria was getting out of hand (although it did produce this touching tribute to school nurses). Thank goodness Arlen Specter stepped out to shift media focus onto something else. My newsfeed lit up with love for Arlen moments after his announcement, and Twitter’s been abuzz all day.

It seems a bit to me like a deathbed conversion. Did he suddenly realize it must have taken a blue God to put a black man in the White House? Did he want to be in good graces with that deity when his time comes? Or is he just crushing hard on Michelle, like the rest of us?

Regardless, he has my blessing. Go with guilt, Arlen! If Charlotte can be a Jew, you can be a Democrat. Don’t let those spurned, angry wingnuts get you down.

I don’t have the Sif; I do, however, a pretty mean cold that’s left me with a voice like Bea Arthur, and two interviews over the next two days. Hopefully my prospective employers have a soft spot for the Golden Girls. Hopefully they will also view my coming in this condition as a show of dedication rather than obliviousness. Hm. Perhaps I shouldn’t shake hands?

movies, quotent quotables

quotes quiz!

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Here’s a quiz that I saw on the Face and I thought it would be more fun to do it here. Below are 15 quotes from 15 of my favorite movies, and you try to guess which movie each comes from. NO GOOGLING and no using IMDB.

Whoever can guess the most wins a prize of my own devising.

1. “Remember, honey, on your wedding night, it’s all right to say ‘yes.'” Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

2. “I’ve been thinking with my gut since I was fourteen years old, and I’ve come to the conclusion that my guts have shit for brains.” High Fidelity

3. “What ain’t no country I’ve ever heard of. They speak English in What?” Pulp Fiction

4. “Street slang is an increasingly valid form of expression. Most of the feminine pronouns do have mocking, but not necessarily misogynistic undertones.” Clueless

5. “He owns the police!” Chinatown

6. “Is that your blood?” “Some of it, yeah.” Fight Club

7. “2,000 years of glorious history from Moses to Sandy Koufax — you’re damn right I’m living in the past!” Big Lebowski

8. “Who knows where thoughts come from? They just appear.” Empire Records

9. “You sure have a way with people.” “Well, they’re my species!” Harold & Maude

10. “If you hold back anything, I’ll kill ya. If you bend the truth or I think you’re bending the truth, I’ll kill ya. If you forget anything, I’ll kill ya. In fact, you’re gonna have to work very hard to stay alive.” Lock, Stock, & Two Smoking Barrels

11. “In Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci, and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love — they had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.” The Third Man

12. “Is butter a carb?” “Yes.” Mean Girls

13. “A faceless man rips off your clothes, and that’s the sex fantasy you’ve been having since you were twelve?” “Well, sometimes I vary it a little.” “Which part?” “What I’m wearing.” WHMS

14. “Technically speaking, the operation is brain damage, but it’s on a par with a night of heavy drinking. Nothing you’ll miss.” ESoTSM

15. “Wallace Beery. Wrestling picture. What do you need, a roadmap?” Barton Fink

BTW, Sorry for that last post, guys. It just kind of slipped out. Maybe it was the product of one of those “runners highs” I’ve heard so much about.