Oh, people, let me promise you that this one is a winner if you follow me to the end.
Firstly, it was girls' Saturday in Denver this weekend, by which I mean Princess Night. Here are the rules of Princess Night:
- The first rule of Princess Night is do not speak of Princess Night unless it is on your blog
- The second rule of Princess Night is that all of the following are required: sparkling tiaras, fairy wands, margaritas, chips and salsa, tarot cards, dancing to Britney Spears on the patio, singing along to Howie Day like you're all fourteen again and singing along to the radio at your sleepover.
- Not required but good to have in the day leading up to Princess Night are The Man Band, Casino Royale, Kiran, ramen, goyoza, new bath product, coffee, pastry and napping.
- The third rule of Princess Night is feel fearless about telling each other the truth about love, life, spirituality, dating men with children (which two of us are doing), dieting, drinking, baby making sex, non-baby making sex, feeling lost, feeling fearful, feeling empowered, feeling like you're on a good path, feeling insecure, feeling drunk. Mostly though you need to be fearless about talking about your own failings in those areas.
- The fourth rule of Princess Night is wear something with an elastic waistband. My bad.
It was a good Princess Night. And over ramen and Kiran and then over margaritas and chicken enchiladas, SMOS vs. SMOA was established.
Me I'm completely dedicated to this six months of single concept.
K-Yo SMOS, you mean?
Me Oh, an acronym! Perfect. Every project is more successful with an acronym.
K-Yo Hey, but, you know, what about you and that cute boy with the sexy glasses?
Me Oh, but, I mean, we're not exclusive.
K-Yo But you would say you're dating, right?
Me Yes, but not exclusively. Dating other people as well. So it's still SMOS.
K-Yo No, it's SMOA.
Me ?
K-Yo Six Months of Available. That's different. If you're dating somebody regularly, you're not getting all of the same growth you'd get with SMOS because you still have the security of knowing that somebody wants you.
Me Oh. I think you're right.
K-Yo SMOS would mean you never dated anybody for longer than a month during that time period.
Me Oh. Really?
K-Yo Yes.
(long pause while I think it through)
Me What if at the end of the month, after the expiration date on dating the person had hit, it just became about sex? What if we weren't dating anymore, but we were still having sex?
K-Yo Could you really do that without getting emotionally attached?
Me (gives look of "Have you met me?") Yes. Surely. You just have to have rules that limit things like time and nature of conversation before and afterward. A good set of rules can totally avoid the emotional connection. Yeah. Sure.
K-Yo You need to have an actual set of rules drawn up then. I'm not sure I trust you to stick to them if you started to get really into somebody.
Me Sure. I think next week I'll ask DCWP to do that for me. He's good at that sort of thing.
K-Yo I think SMOS is important for you. I don't think you'll get what you're looking for out of SMOA.
Me So much about this conversation is fucked up, but mostly just that we're having it.
And so that was girls' weekend. I love those girls. Ladies, ladies of ILovePaulJack, BEGIN TO SAVE YOUR PENNIES NOW (unless you are about to purchase a home in which case you will read that sentence and then ask me if I know that I'm an asshole for forgetting that every penny you have is going to your new home for your children - LOVE YOU CANDY). Dee, K-Yo and I are planning a girls' trip to Madrid next February. We picked February because it's off season and cheaper to travel, but it's also my birthday month so, you know, awesome. We picked Madrid for three reasons: sangria, it's language friendlier for most of us, men. MEN. And SMOS doesn't really end until February, so that works out. I'll send an email, but you know you want to come (please come).
You can commit to coming and then bail due to pregnancy or incarceration. Sadly, those are BOTH concerns with this crew.
Somewhere in the Middle of the Fabric I'm Weaving...
Oh my. A little emotional this one will be.
So earlier this week, somebody asked me who Hil was because, much like I do, they find her blog to be a wonderful source of peace when she's updating. And I was saying how lucky I felt that DCWP found her and married her so I could have her in my life and how much I'm looking forward to seeing the both of them in the desert this New Year's. And the person asked how long I had known DCWP. And I had to think about it, and then...
...I realized that...
...this fall DCWP and I will have known each other for 15 years. We met during my freshmen year of college. That was 1992.
Often, you know, when I think of the friends who are the most sturdy, who know me the best, I by default think of the ones that I literally grew up with. The ones who knew me when I was twelve and playing ninja in the backyard. Or when I was fourteen and had my first serious crush. Or when I was eighteen and about to set out on my own for the first time.
But then I realized that I'd known DCWP for 15 years. And I put the pieces together in my head. And all of us, all of us who became friends during those first couple of years of college have now been in each other's lives for fourteen or fifteen years in some combination of groups or another. Roxy, K-Yo and DCWP, PaulM and Kolodny, McK, Sam, GregB, Rob (so basically Curry 3), Trick, Dani and GayLynn. And really Matt McD and Kazanas and Niko, because I found all of them in my junior year, so it's almost there for us with the 15 year marker, too. For some people that list is different with more or less people. I count the ones I talk to regularly.
And then you think about what you've shared -- in person, through phone calls, through long emails and mass emails and mailed packages and lately lots of text messaging -- in fifteen long years. And you're blown away by how much of each other's lives you've touched in one way or another: marriages, divorces, deaths of parents, engagements, bad boyfriends and girlfriends, good boyfriends and girlfriends, new romance, painful breakups, business failures, business successes, babies, lack of babies, unexpected babies, bad advice, good advice, ill advised hook ups, thirtieth birthday parties, weight gain, weight loss, weddings, gossip, knitting patterns and recipes, coming outs, searches for meaning and truth, artistic fulfillment, artistic frustration, revelations, camping trips, cocktails, beer, Indiana, Chicago, New York, New Jersey, Ohio, Texas, Kansas, Denver, California, Nevada, Wisconsin, Minnesota, Boston, Louisville, DC, New Orleans, and so many jokes that can only get made by people with fifteen years of inside jokes to work with.
And after that hits you, you're just so grateful. How much richer is the fabric of my life for the presence of these people? People who came to me because the universe is good. Because I was randomly paired with an amazing woman as my freshman roommate who forgave me when I yelled at her when she interrupted me while I was studying for my French final. Because I randomly selected a fun class on apocalyptic literature my first semester, and the class had a man with such high energy and good spirits that he was irresistible, and he brought me into his circle of friends that included a future politician with the loyalty of an alter boy, a savant trader with the heart of a lion, a flaming doctor and at least three other men whom I love like brothers. Because I wanted to be a Resident Assistant and found a writer who was easy and comfortable to be around, a crazy woman who made me seem calm and a Greek BFF with a naughty side. Because I needed a place to crash one summer and ended up with wild, happy, adventurous girls like me. Because I had to take a photo class and strangely befriended a pretty blond sorority girl who balanced me out in ways I didn't realize I needed to be balanced. How many chapters wouldn't be in my story without fifteen years of companionship from such wonderful, rich people?
Fifteen years. That's really happening. I am so grateful. I'm grateful to all of the soulful, sturdy, true and good people who surround me in my life. But today, I want to just say how thankful I am for that particular group. The group who probably all own an IU sweatshirt and can tell you why Bobby Knight is actually a good coach. The group who, for many of them, require a singing of the IU fight song at their weddings. The group who remembers Halloween parties and the Reed cafeteria, Forest Friends and autumn in Bloomington, lazy Sunday coffee hour at The Spoon, the four months when I went through my goth phase and the two years when I went through my hippie phase (okay, the three years when I went through my hippie phase, but who's really counting?), MPB, insane staff drinking binges at Wilkie, the summer TJ cheated on me and I burned all of his stuff in a garbage can outside of his door, the sucking incubus of Ballantine and fireplace room in the student union where I always was, the fall I came back from Europe a different girl, the summers I worked at the ice cream shop and smelled like vanilla all the time, the fights with Geoff Stickle and the time I plastered the Residence Life office with pictures of him on the toilet, warm-fucking-fuzzy week, Darren and philosophical lunches, attempts to make me a Republican, and all of the things that came after we left that place that touched each other's lives in one way or another.
Some days, I am acutely aware that I am so fortunate to have such an amazing universe of truly good people in my life. It's still July, and the days are slower. I need to get on the phone and tell them all how much they matter to me. To thank them for all the bad news and all the good news we ever gave each other. And then on New Year's day, I'll hike and get blissed out with DCWP and thank him for Hil. And then say, "15 years. Think how much fabric we'll all weave in the next fifteen."
That's a quote from a Celine Dion song. I've been listening to Celine radio on Pandora all week, though I will not torture you with that with my top five. Here's your Friday five. Enjoy.
1. Ferris Potter: At 5:45am today, my phone text message alert beeps in. I'm like, "5:45am! That must be important." I extract myself from the comfort and warmth of my sleeping situation and dig my phone out. There are two texts. "Oh, no. What can be wrong?!"
The first text says, "I'm standing in line to get a bracelet so that I can then stand in line again to get a copy of the new Harry Potter."
The second text says, "PS - I am NOT the oldest person in line."
I roll back over, snuggle up, and go back to sleep, rolling my eyes.
I love Ferris. Muchly. Can't wait to see you guys next month.
2. Write Now: Pun intended, ha. I'm in a meeting while I'm doing this, and it's making me want to put my head through some drywall. This is painful. PAINFUL.
4. Let's Party: In case you live under a rock and didn't get my mass email, Toni and I officially launched this this week. Go tell your friends. I have to go have a cocktail while you do that...FOR WORK.
5. Songs for the Week! My head hurt this week. This music helped.
Mahalia Jackson, "Trouble of the World," because it seems like everybody has some right now. But soon it will be dawn. I'm in the most fantastically centered and happy place I've been in all year. I hope you all catch up. In the meantime, Mahalia can make you FEEL.
Spin Doctors, "What Time is It," because we were talking about them earlier, and then somebody reminded me that there's actually a THIRD Spin Doctors song that I love, and that's "What Time Is Is?" Yep. "What time is it? 4:30! It's not late! No, it's early, early, early." Welcome to my life.
TLC, "Creep," which rounds out our three week exploration of the best of TLC. Listen, this one's not so much my favorite, but Ferris and Bon Bon seem to love it, so we included it this week.
Lifehouse, "First Time," SHUT UP. Bon Bon and I have been listening to this all week. You won't mock. You'll enjoy. At least it's more than you and me and all other people.
Irma Thomas, "Don't Look Down," my new cautionary song to people. And who doesn't love Irma Thomas? It's never fun when, eventually, you pay for what you've done.
5a. While We're At It: In case I didn't inspire you to get your booty over to You Tube and look up some more Flight of the Conchords stuff, here's the other really, really funny one. Called "Part Time Model." Enjoy.
1. Uganda is KILLING me already. Oh My God. Have you ever tried to book a flight to Entebbe? WTF? Two days of air time through Amsterdam. Buy a small library before you leave, but make sure it's all crap because you don't want to haul that stuff home with you. Unreal. Don't worry, Lis! I have it under control, especially since I can't get a replacement passport without a travel itinerary. Thanks US government! Oh, yes, did I mention I've lost my passport and now must get a re-issue? Expedited, even! Like, months ago, I was like, "You know, I'm not sure I know where my passport is." Yep. Totally lost. I wake up in the middle of the night looking for it. Can't find it. Awesome.
2. Everybody's Blogging These Days: My stuff is trite. Go read something valuable. - Read about San Francisco's hip-as-hell band scene at World Famous in San Francisco. - Or, read about a man with a perfect life and some 18th century aesthetics who save the universe at The Applesauce Blog. - Or read about parenting, politics and the life changing power of the desert at Ocotillos and Politics.
Let me save you the trouble. Ocotillos is a stunningly beautiful red desert plant.
3. Make sure you read the entry BELOW this one: Otherwise don't blame me when you log on and this site is full of pictures of my boobs.
4. Kelly Clarkson: Chick who says "Fuck the man, I know what's right for me" or "Girl on the way to a slow-roll, Britney-like implosion?" Discuss.
5. So the long one is for last, right? As Candy would put it, I've rounded the good bend. And so the other day, I caught myself saying that it was June already, and the first half of my year had bit it big time. And then I really thought about it, and that's so untrue. I had all of these amazing experiences in the first six months of this year. I had several wonderful, blissful girls' nights out, both in Manhattan Beach and Las Vegas with cocktails to die for and Willie Nelson wigs and twins and the Imperial Palace and uninhibited fun with women you trust. I saw Chuck and Luci for the first time in years. Tyler came into my life. shamus and I got to troll around Pittsburgh while I looked like a homeless crack addict buying $5 cupcakes and calling Moon cute. Dana and I had a steak dinner and sent Ferris camera-phone pictures of the food he was missing out on every five minutes. Pookie turned 30 and a bunch of people I love all had beer in a church, wine in a vegan cafe and hard liquor in a karaoke gay club. I ran a marathon with two of my favorite people, and I'll never forget the sight of the mountains that morning. I had many happy nights watching 90210. I rocked a red drag dress on my birthday and got fed lemon pie. I got to spend an entire week with Ashleypooh, Toni and Emma now that they're all grown up and super fantastic women. I was loved and felt love for this wonderful group of people who make up my life. I started a new business that some of the most awesome marketers in Vegas believe in. I went to the Rose Bowl. Sanjaya Malakar. Elliot Yamin. Ryan Shaw. A crazy amount of wonderful new people coming into my life and teaching me so much. And, fuck it, let's throw New Year's Day into the mix, because that was pretty special and I'll hold on to that one no matter what.
And I was really like, fuck it. Sure, I cried more in the first six months of the year than I have in the last six years, period. But even with all that, I still had an awesome life. The truth is, there were enough other things that made me laugh that I probably laughed as much as I cried over the last six months. I'm just used to not crying at all. In the end, I have to refuse to let the way that person treated me define what should have gotten logged as a great six months. How many people would kill for all of those blessings, right? Crazy. How did I lose so much perspective on it?
That said, just to cover my bases, the second half of the year has been intentionally structured to kick your ass: home for the Fourth of July, summiting Mt. Whitney, Uganda with at least one and hopefully two of my best friends, rocking this new business, and you don't even want to know about this year's Christmas project which is the most heartfelt thing I've ever made you all.
But I Have MySpace! The first of the key IM conversations happens with Ferris. You may think we are both smart, articulate people, but we spent an hour on Wednesday IMing about Jennifer Lopez and Sanjaya Malakar. And then this happened.
Ferris What were our parents doing at our age?
Me My mom was pregnant with Pookie when she was my age.
(pause)
Me Yep. Pretty much at my age my mother had babies, and I have ... MySpace.
(And for the record, this exchange is much funnier if you could hear Ferris' response, but I pretty sure it's not approved for posting.)
GO DEVILS. I have a friend (or many, but this is in reference to one specific one). We don't speak all that often, but I adore him. I'm not about to stroke his ego and list the specific things that I adore about him, but to understand what happens next you need to understand that one of the things that I adore about him is the dynamic he provides me with. So the thing about him is that he can push my buttons in .004 seconds flat. Often, he does it entirely unintentionally. Sometimes, he does it to amuse himself. Sometimes, he actually gets me worked up and defensive about things we share the same opinion on. Rarely, but not never, he does it and then stifles a smirk as I go into hyper mode and sound like this: "What are you saying? What are you saying? What are you saying? I can't believe you just said that. But, but, but..." Other people, people who are related to me, people who have dated me, have all commented the following, "Man, he can push your buttons faster than anybody I've ever seen."
And here is the kicker. Many people would describe me as a button pusher myself. But this particular person seems to be impervious to my efforts to get him worked up. I throw things out there to try and prod at him, and it's like I'm throwing a big foam softball that he takes a whack at with a tennis racket and it comes back and hits me in the face and suddenly I'm all like "What are you saying? What are you saying? What are you saying? I can't believe you just said that. But, but, but..." And I have always appreciated about this person that my attempts to push at buttons roll off his shoulders and yet, somehow, he can get a reaction out of me by giving me a sideways look. I appreciate the change up in my daily dynamic.
Until yesterday.
Yesterday, I am eating a burrito and doing my taxes and I look at my Gmail Chat and notice that said person has changed his status indicator to cheer for the New Jersey Devils, in almost direct contrast to my Gmail Chat status indicator that was rallying for the Pens. And yes, yes, this is a discussion of an event that was launched by status indicators in Gmail Chat. And so I change my status indicator to tell him to live in the now with the team of the future, and he changes his to remind me that only one of those two hockey teams "knows how to win championships." And I'm all like, "That's so cute. He felt like playing via Gmail Chat." And I go back to eating my burrito and being horrified at how many line items on my 2006 credit card statements are literally for slurpees from 7-11. And then...
The chat window opens, and paragraphs, PARAGRAPHS, start rolling in about the New Jersey Devils and their apparent superiority over all other NHL teams, EVER. I am so shocked by the deluge of PARAGRAPHS of impassioned Devils adoration that I actually slide my chair back from my desk in physical shock. Holding my burrito in one hand and my 1099 itemized sheet in the other, I occasionally begin to slide my chair back towards the desk to hazard a response, but as soon as I do, there is another PARAGRAPH about how the NHL changed the rules to try to bring the Devils down and the Devils still kept on winning, or about how they're a true team and not a bunch of individuals, or how they have the greatest goalie to ever play the game (Uh, Patrick Waugh, anybody?) ... and more! And it just kept going! The paragraphs came so quickly I couldn't even keep up with reading them. And, I have to say, I know this person to have great passion, but I have never seen him express such deep passion as he did for the New Jersey Devils during this IM exchange.
And for a moment, I am...triumphant! That's right. Three years later, I manage to push a button that causes him to stop in the middle of his work day and set me straight about my misguided hockey beliefs. In my head, as I was carefully sliding my chair back towards my desk, waiting to see what would happen next, I envisioned what this must look like. What joy I would see if I were able to be in two places at once and watch this go down. His furiously fast typing into the tiny Gmail chat box while hunched over the keyboard in the midst of fiery emotion. Red laser beams shooting out from behind very sexy, thin-rimmed intellectual glasses. Quickened breathing. A half-eaten take-out container of nachos abandoned while he ferociously puts me in my place about the special place in hockey hierarchy that the New Jersey Devils have reserved for them.
AND EVEN IF THAT IS NOT HOW IT WAS, YOU WILL LET ME HAVE THIS ONE. YOU HAVE DESTROYED ENOUGH ILLUSIONS FOR ME. LET ME HAVE THIS.
I'm going into the neutral corner for now. Go Sharks.
And, finally, this sexiness
DCWP I'm currently at the Midwest Political Science Association's annual meeting.
Me I can't think of anything that sounds like a sexier gathering than the Midwest Political Science Association's annual meeting. I need to go shower about now just to cool down.
DCWP If i told you the title of my paper was "BRAC ATTACK: The Politics of Military Base Closings" would that make you even hotter?
Me I'm quite sure I wouldn't even be able to handle it. Now go find me a nice academic husband while you're there. Somebody whose paper is on something unbearably sexy like the politics of agricultural subsidies or re-inventing voting laws though a return to town hall meetings.
We take a break from holiday memories for more NYU Grad Student Strike
This time, from DCWP, stellar professor of political science at an undisclosed location (undisclosed to you, I could show up surprisingly at any moment). DCWP and I have rolled like that since my very first class during my very first year of college. We rarely agree on things political, but usually agree on other things. Why do I love DCWP so much? Becasue, as seen below, he actually each year requested the portion of his union dues spent on political advocacy back from the union so that he could use it to support candidates less reprehensible. For real.
DCWP says:
Jocelyn—
I read with interest your post on graduate student unions and strikes. I have some definite opinions on this, as I was compelled to pay union dues while in graduate school and the union struck over benefits in my final year at UW.
I generally, as you can imagine, do not like unions. Indeed, the graduate student union as Wisconsin was largely a joke. They were more interested in fighting windmills than actually providing members with tangible benefits. I paid my legally-mandated fair bargaining dues and requested, every year, a refund of my dues spent on political advocacy in support of candidates I found reprehensible.
While at UW, students had free healthcare. The state tried to take this valuable benefit away. Now, mind you, graduate students make anywhere from $800 to $1200 a month. Having students pay a portion of their healthcare costs would have taken a significant chunk out of their salaries. This, in my mind, was not a good thing.
You talk about choices concerning attending graduate school. Yes, we chose this profession. Yes, we could leave the profession. Perhaps we could go to another school with better benefits, yes?
Well, actually, no. The plight of the graduate student is a serious one, mostly because (and this is an argument your silly socialist NYU student could never comprehend) the market forces are seriously distorted in graduate school. If I’m upset with my wages at a job, I can always get another job. But if I’m upset with my wages/benefits in graduate school, I’m stuck IF I want to be an academic.
Here’s why: 1. Graduate schools generally have different standards for things like course work and comprehensive exams. If I start my Ph.D. at UW, find they are paying me crap, I COULD go to UCLA. BUT I very likely will have to do my coursework again. And if I took my comprehensive exams, I’d have to take those again, too.
2. In order to succeed in academia, you absolutely MUST have good letters of recommendation from faculty and their active support on the job market. If you don’t, you’re sunk. Study after study after study have indicated that publications and letters of recommendation are the most important things hiring committees look for. And guess what? The best indicator of a graduate student successfully publishing is his relationship with his advisor. Therefore, you really are the bitch of the professors for whom you work. You have very few options IF you want to be an academic.
If anything, I think unions are MORE important to graduate students than to auto workers. I never did become a member of the union at UW, but I did support their strike. It was the only option graduate students had.
Madonna Tribute - Cast of Glee
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