“Waaaaaaaaalllll-E.” “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeevuh.” That is what is going on inside my head, a constant loop of one adorable robot voice speaking to another adorable robot voice. If I could get a guarantee that my kids would be as cute as those little Pixar creations, I would have them. (That’s one consideration not addressed by this otherwise thoughtful NYT magazine article about why Europeans won’t breed. I mean, seriously, reproduction is a risk. What if your kids have terrible taste, or grow up to be barbaric, vote-rigging, African dictators instead of awesome neurologists?)

Without giving too much away, because you should really see the movie yourself and be surprised / delighted, Wall-E is essentially one long much more artistically-impressive Mac vs. PC commercial. One that makes clear that the future belongs to Macintosh. Also to females, maybe, for some reason. Do you think that’s because Eve, the sleek, more advanced, little i-pod of a robot, needed to be female for the story to make sense, or because, like the hipsters & artists who love them, Macs are inherently feminine?

Putting aside the question of how something with no genitals or reproductive capability could be sexed at all, it was nice to see a non-princess female character in a starring role in an animated movie. A non-princess, non-love-interest character would be even more impressive. I can only think of a handful in the Pixar/Disney canon, and the standout is probably Dory in Finding Nemo, a movie also written by Wall-E auteur Andrew Stanton. Also the fabulous Edna in the Incredibles, which is still my favorite Pixar flick (or “Pick“). Interestingly — not that I’m drawing conclusions — Dory is voiced by a famous lesbian and Edna by a man.

The little girl sitting next to me at the sold-out Friday night showing I went to had lots of questions for her mother, including the one that’s functioning as the title of this post. It was also pretty cute, although less cute than robot kissing. But, then, isn’t everything?

Governor Deval Patrick’s daughter is heading off to home-of-the-homos Smith College in the fall, and she’ll fit right in. Yay, Katherine! And well done, daddy Deval, who apparently is the a poster-child for PFLAG:

“he didn’t know that I was gay [when he helped legalize gay marriage in the state],” the 18-year-old recalls. “So, for someone so publicly to fight for something that doesn’t even affect him was just like, ‘That’s my dad,’ you know?” she says with a laugh. “That’s all I could think. I was very, very proud to be part of this family, and this state in general.”

“It was great. I’m very glad,” she adds, looking at her father. “Don’t cry, Dad.” Patrick’s eyes are brimming with tears, prompting some good-natured teasing from his daughter. “He’s done some good things,” she says with a laugh, patting his arm. “I appreciate it. Want a tissue? Oh, God. He’s a crier.”

Less amazingly adorable? Strawberry Shortcake’s hideous makeover:
They’ve taken a beloved, asexual childhood icon — and they’ve tried to make her cool. Strawberry Shortcake isn’t cool! She’s Victorian! And she isn’t supposed to look like the demon lovechild of the Little Mermaid and Polly Pocket in truly awful high-waisted pants. That’s way worse than when Marvel unconsciously created Gay Ken in 1993:

it gave Ken a purple mesh T-shirt, a pierced ear and the name “Earring Magic Ken,” and it can set off a brand crisis on a global scale. … Earring Magic Ken is the industry’s nightmare. The character, who had blond highlights in his hair and a leather vest, drew howls from consumers, who did not see him as a realistic boyfriend for Barbie.

Ira Glass is coming! He who in my head looks like the nice nerdy guy from the Verizon commericals will be speaking at NYU and I will be there looking on adoringly. Although I don’t usually manage to listen to the show on WNYC, the podcasts make for diversion at work. (As do, by the way, the Lovecasts. Dan Savage is so much more gentle with people on the phone than you’d expect.)

This makes for a great pop-media live troika for me this spring, since I’m also seeing Nellie McKay at Joe’s Pub and Shalom Auslander at BAM. Have you read SA? You should! Unless you’re my father, in which case, Dad, I apologize again. He bought the memoir Foreskin’s Lament after I raved about it and he couldn’t get through the first chapter; he ended up exchanging the book for two Klezmer CDs. (Oy.)

Mr. Ben and I are living in a construction site, or so it seems. We’re moving this weekend and prep makes a mess: empty boxes from the liquor stores, half-filled suitcases, stuffed full bags of clothes to be donated. To add an extra frisson of tension, while I was cooking on Sunday night the gas went off. We called Con Ed yesterday and they informed us that they don’t provide our gas.

Neither does our building, as further probing discovered.

So who does? Why have we been enjoying free gas for three years and why is it abruptly stopping now, a week before we move out? These and other stressful questions answered when we return.

“Dear Ester,

Our records indicate that you have submitted an application for the 324 Creative Writing – Fiction, M.F.A. for Fall 2008.

Your application is currently being reviewed by your graduate program. Please allow 14-21 business days for a decision.

NEXT STEPS…

1. Admissions will notify you of the decision on your application via mail.
2. Continue to check your application status for further updates.”

14-21 business days! Yikes. It would be a part-time thing since I am currently quite happy with my secret internet full-time job, but a part-time thing I’d be excited about. The program hosts Michael Cunningham AND Myla Goldberg and it’s a really good deal, money-wise. Starting April 1, I will live even closer to it too. Well, we will see. I’m practicing being calm about everything. If it happens, great; if it doesn’t, then I’ll gear up to finish my second draft on my own, sans guru.

Basically I’m trying to pretend, in a godless universe, that there is a god who will guide my path if I allow it. Anything to help me relax.

Meanwhile, happy distractions abound. Obama’s winning more primaries, I just saw Eddie Izzard’s new show live in Union Square, and my swatfriends keep rolling in. Two last weekend, including one all the way from Seattle, and another this coming weekend. The one from Seattle and I basically spent the two days holed up in my apartment laughing. Not a bad way to plow through time.

You know what’s fun? Apartment hunting.

Actually I enjoy it way more than I should. Mr. Ben and I have already found one place worth paying a broker’s fee for. We’ll see what bizarre and unaccountable circumstances rise to stand in our way; but if none do, we’ll be the proud owners — well, renters — of SPACE. Like a galaxy’s worth. And a washer-dryer. That’s the apartment equivalent of “… A NEW CAR!” (Frankly I’d rather have free convenient laundry than a Pontiac, anyway.)

This picture, by the way, comes straight from Craigslist. It is supposed to be making the apartment in question look attractive.

My reaction to Heath Ledger’s untimely and mysterious demise at the hands of an Olsen twin? (You know they’re implicated, even if the NYT had to take out the initial report that Heath died in Mary Kate’s apartment and that he’d been seen earlier with Ashley.) Grief. Pure grief. And to ask, If you came back as a zombie, who would you bite first? I’d go for Ann Coulter, I think.

My coworker who sits next to me, chugging Target brand cough syrup, reflects and then answers, “I think I’d be a nice zombie.”

Another coworker posts the following on his gchat:
Joaquin Phoenix found drowned in bathtab in Hannah Montana’s Soho loft
Jake Gyllenhaal found crushed to death by rocks in Mischa Barton’s apartment
Zac Efron found stabbed in Coolio’s South American villa.
Christian Bale found slashed to ribbons in Rihanna’s Venezuelan thresher

I giggle and life goes on.

ETA: Jack Nicholson was involved somehow! I knew it! Seriously, how has that asshole outlived so many other actors and politicians and presidents?

So many races! So many contests! It’s all terribly exciting, now that the Democratic political field is almost as scattered as it could be (will John Edwards pick up a state already?) and the Oscars are about to be announced (NYMag puts its predictions on paper here). I hope NYMag is right at least on the Supporting Actress front — two of my favorite roles of the year are there: Tilda Swinton in Michael Clayton and Cate Blanchett in I’m Not There.

Politics-wise, I’ve evolved from my original Pro-Drama stance of wanting as much of a contest as possible to a tentative Pro-Obama stance. Hillary is beginning to seem inevitable again; and so many minority groups are spurning Obama cuz it turns out, in a giant shocker, that white people aren’t the only ones who are hostile to blacks. (Or is there another explanation?) That depresses me, so into the man’s opens arms I run.

This weekend was all about small talk — family Saturday, more family Sunday. At last discussion of the election adds a dash of friendly controversy to these gatherings. I suppose I could have spiced things up further by asking, “Can someone explain the appeal of Blue Velvet to me, please? I just saw the damn thing and was ten shades of underwhelmed. It reminded me of Belle du Jour, another ‘classic’ I couldn’t watch all the way through. What gives?”

I would like to make it known, before history gets written this evening, that I feel really bad for Hillary Clinton. Maybe I shouldn’t: Lord knows she has power, position, significance, some comfortable amount of money, a house in Chappaqua, brains, a great daughter, and a place in history. She may even love her husband — who knows?

Also, not everyone is ready to write her off, even if (when?) she does lose this evening.

All the same, lady queen looks like she’s going down, and it saddens me. I do like the man who’s flattening her; of course I’m an Obama girl. But the Obama boys in my office have are being pretty dismissive of the Hillster’s fall from grace. How can they be so cruel? I mean, look at her! She wants this so much, and she’s not the young, idealistic person she used to be. In fact, I think that’s mostly what’s working against her. She isn’t just middle-aged, she is Middle Age. Get close enough to a picture of her and you can smell the deflated dreams, the settling, the compromises.

Get close enough to a picture of Barack Obama and your nose fills with the new car scent. Who doesn’t want to buy a new car, especially if it’s the same price as the used one? Even if the used one’s a BMW?

I just feel bad for her, dammit. Despite everything, I like her and it hurts my heart a little that so few other people do.

mustang submerged
Originally uploaded by wanakenahouse.

This, it must be said, is the car that brought us to Wanakena. When we arranged to rent a compact from Avis in Newark, NJ, we had no idea that they would provide us with a bright red Ford Mustang convertible. Who needs four wheel drive when you have all that MUSCLE?

More pictures at flickr!

Usually, I get very stressed out about traveling to and from Wanakena, my friend K-Ross’s house in the mountains, and then I enjoy my time in the snowy wilderness immensely. This year I felt nowhere near so apprehensive in advance; but, while I enjoyed myself, I also didn’t have the kind of heart-filling experience I have had in the past. Whether these things are related, I can’t tell.

What is probably related is that about half of those who went this year were newfolks, a self-contained group of non-Swatties, and though they were perfectly nice, I felt a bit on the outskirts the whole time. Mostly I hung out with my small, great nucleus of friends, an experience that was cozy and lovely but not transcendent. Plus, once two of those friends ramped up the flirting and eying of each other, the prevailing narrative of the day became their courtship and then its culmination. (Of which I only watched the first part.)

Mr. Ben put in a superhuman effort to get us there, driving almost the entire way through a devouring snowstorm, after having slept only two hours of the last thirty. Listening to the last Harry Potter book on CD helped, but the unfortunate side effect was that he was more or less in a fugue state for much of the next day. Still, I think he had a good time. And it’s lucky we didn’t crash. Apparently we tempted fate by forgetting to “sit” before we left — it’s a very simple Russian tradition that consists, simply and entirely, of sitting quietly before getting up and moving into the car. We forgot, and, in consequence, LEFT OUR DOOR UNLOCKED. Nothing was stolen, thank God, but I don’t think we’ll neglect to “sit” again.

Once in Wanakena, we hung out in the sweat lodge, danced, ate, and tromped through the deep powdery snow. We also played a lot of games, especially once the strangers and half of my nucleus took off, leaving only K. Ross, Mr. Ben, the Rebbe and me alone with the leftovers. My favorite part of the experience was the outfit I wore New Year’s Eve, which came courtesy of the Rebbe with an assist from one of the strangers. I felt like a 20’s vixen. (Pictures TK!)

And now it’s 2008. I can’t believe this year is here already — it’s the one I thought would never come around. We had to offer blessings to each other over dinner, a process which freaked me out in the moment since I hate being put on the spot AND forced to be sincere at the same time, but the ones I offered the stranger next to me stand for pretty much everyone I know, certainly all of you: (1) good haircuts; (2) a Democratic government; and (3) the encountering of many new and surprising selves within the larger You. Happy new year!