The San Francisco Treat

I. Am. In. Love.

I had thought, nay was sure, that I had found my one true soul mate in Boston. But, suddenly and unexpectedly, another has come in to my life and I can't deny my feelings any longer.

Yes, it is true. I went to San Francisco for the first time this past weekend and I am smitten.

I've always found that cities are a lot like people. They have pulses and beating hearts. They can be moody. Sometimes you fall in and out of love with them as quickly as the fog rolls in over the bay. Sometimes they exceed your expectations and sometimes they disappoint. Spend enough time with them and they will almost always surprise you.

San Francisco swept me off my feet. (Almost literally, since it is quite windy there).

It's always interesting to visit a new place and see just how closely it matches the idea in your head. Based on what I knew of it, I thought San Francisco would be picturesque and that its residents would be quirky and maybe just a little smug about living in what is probably the most naturally beautiful and socially progressive city in the country. This turned out to be pretty accurate:





We spent our far too short time in the city being proper tourists. We watched fireworks over the water, ate chocolate in Ghirardelli Square, walked across Golden Gate Bridge, rode a cable car and browsed through the City Lights Bookstore (home to all the great beat poets such as Ferlinghetti, Ginsberg and Mike Myers in "So I Married An Axe Murderer"). It was all completely delightful, but I think the most quintessentially San Francisco moment of all occurred when I overheard this snippet of conversation spoken by two uber-trendy girls walking down the street in matching lace dresses, black tights and faux fur coats.

Girl #1: "I so do NOT over-medicate.
Girl #2: "WHATever, Jude."

Here are a few more photos of our San Francisco adventure.









A couple of other noteworthy items:

MANY thanks to Kelli for sending us a list of things to do in San Francisco so comprehensive that we hardly needed to consult the Time Out guide we had purchased. If you're ever looking for a career change, I see a future for you in travel guide writing my friend!

Also, if you happen to drop by my Facebook profile where the rest of the photos are posted, you may notice that I'm wearing the same black sweater in almost every picture. This particular sweater was purchased in a London H&M in 2002, and has been with me everywhere I've gone since then. It was tragically lost during a trip to Las Vegas in 2005 and then miraculously recovered. It's lightweight yet surprisingly warm. It goes with everything and can be easily folded up and transported in a shoulder bag.

If you yourself do not own the perfect travel sweater, I seriously suggest that you invest in one. Particularly if you are ever planning a trip to San Francisco, where layering is key.

Sweet Home Chicago

I've been doing a bit of traveling lately for work. Before I started taking them, business trips held a certain allure. It always seemed very glamorous and ADULT to travel and be paid for it. Unfortunately, like many things in life, the reality does not quite live up to the ideal. Mostly, you spent a lot of time being disgruntled in airports and getting a sore shoulder from lugging a 20 pound (or so it feels) laptop around with you all day long.

The first trip I took in May was to Iowa, of all places. I landed at the minuscule Grand Rapids airport and tracked down the shuttle service I had booked to transport me to my hotel. The service turned out to be a very nice elderly man who sat behind a counter at the airport and kept his reservations alphabetized on index cards. Midway through the 20-mile drive to the hotel he commented, "It's a shame you're coming in at night because you're missing the sights." I wasn't too disappointed since I can only imagine he was referring to the roadside Denny's and, let's face it, if you've seen one you've seen them all.

The second trip was to Chicago, which was actually pretty exciting because I grew up just outside of the city and was able to work in some time to spend with my family and friends. I also got to stay in a hotel right downtown for free.

One thing I have discovered is that no matter where you are, everyone you meet will tell you how much they love Chicago. It may be the most universally beloved city in the world. And with good reason. It's a bustling metropolis with great restaurants, culture, sports, a shoreline and an effective public transportation system. It's what New York would be like if New York were clean and its people were friendly and it had a moderate cost of living and didn't smell like garbage. (So actually, I guess it's nothing like New York.)

Every time I'm in Chicago, I'm struck by what a beautiful city it is. On a bright and sunny day the Loop actually seems to sparkle. And everyone who lives there is like seven feet tall (it is the city of big shoulders after all) and loves to jog. They all seem so happy and robust it's enough to make you ill. While I was there I visited my friend who lives in the chic River North neighborhood. It's a former industrial area, and there's still a chocolate factory nearby that makes the entire neighborhood smell like chocolate chip cookies. How could anyone resist such a place?

The funny thing is that I have resisted it for many years now. I left when I was 18 and profoundly bored and desperate to get out of the Midwest and see what life was like in a different part of the country. I've always felt that my true home is among the neurotic and dispossessed, and I've never really looked back. But now, whenever I visit, I feel just the smallest tug pulling me homeward.

That feeling was especially acute when I arrived back in Los Angeles, where it's smoggy and ugly and every one's constantly bitter because their development deal fell through or they got turned away from Hyde last Saturday night. Why, I wonder, don't I flee this horrible place for the magical land of happy giants where it always smells like freshly baked cookies?

But then, of course, there is this.



And if I didn't live in Los Angeles, I would not have ended up sitting two rows in front of Screech from Saved By The Bell on the flight back. (He was sitting in coach...I guess being an early 90s TV actor turned home sex-video star doesn't pay like it used to).

And if that is not a sound argument for living in La-La Land then, my friends, I do not know what is.

XOXO

After watching the season finale of Gossip Girl on my resurrected TiVo (it lives, yay!), and after long and serious consideration I have come to a conclusion: I don't quite get the hype about this show.

This is not the first time that I've failed to embrace the current "it" show. But I'm a little perplexed by my ambivalence to G.G. because, you see, I LOVE teen dramas. I actually consider myself a bit of a student of the teen drama genre, which is a high-falutin' way of saying that I have watched A LOT of shows that I'm now probably much too old for.

So why can't I fully get on board with Gossip Girl? I'm not sure if it's due to my advancing age, my evolving taste, or simply the fact that the show is not that good. I'm inclined to think it's probably a combination of all three.

To be fair, I haven't seen all of the first season. I dropped it off my Season Pass after the first few disappointing episodes, then decided to pick it back up after New York Magazine somewhat hyperbolically declared it the Best. Show. Ever. Sure I may finally be older than the actors playing high school students on TV, but that's hardly a reason to allow myself to fall off the cultural radar completely, right?

The frustrating thing is that the show can be addictively fun and it does have flashes of snarky brilliance, usually when it's satirizing the cutthroat machinations of the Upper East Side social scene. But I just don't think that any of the characters--with the possible exception of Blair--are all that interesting. Take the season finale in which (OMFG) no one actually slept with anyone except for the old people, Buffy's sister was sent packing with a minimal amount of drama and Nate "Manbangs" Archibald's dad, who no one cared about anyway, fled the country.

And also, why are we supposed to be excited about the Blair-Chuck pairing? Did I miss something? Didn't he try to date rape at least two of the characters at the beginning of the season? Why are we supposed to root for the romantic inclinations of a would-be sex offender?

I think that my main problem is that even though the show is based on a series of books, which granted I have not read, it still seems so blatantly derivative of The O.C. In fact, a lot of the characters are just watered down versions of their West Coast predecessors.

To wit:

-Often distraught, substance-abusing heroine? Check

-Hyper-verbal, lovelorn hero who finally gets the girl he's pined after? Check

-Kids from the wrong side of town thrust into world of wealth and privilege? Check (although, come on, a giant loft in Brooklyn is still a looong way from Chino.)

-Childhood friend and first love who turns up again for sole purpose of causing trouble for golden couple? Check

-Skinny blond mother character? Check

-Wisecracking but wise father character? Check

-Loser father character indicted for financial improprieties who conveniently disappears from show? Check

-Every episode being built around "THE party of the season," which will inevitably end with someone getting punched? Check

-Season finale revolving around a wedding and a break-up, culminating in poignant slow dance? Check

So does that make Georgina the Oliver of Gossip Girl? And if Josh Schwartz is basically going to re-package every character from his first show, then where oh where is Julie Cooper?

Not Easy Being Green

Yesterday, as I'm sure you are all aware, was Earth Day.

It occurred to me that Earth Day has come a long way since my youth. I remember that in fourth grade a girl in my class who everyone thought was weird tried to recruit a few of us to spend Earth Day picking up trash in some field. We all just rolled our eyes and went back to playing Super Mario Bros. or whatever we were doing that day. But clearly she was just way ahead of her time, because now Earth Day is a major annual event during which people re-dedicate themselves to saving the planet, and passionately declare how they are going to accomplish this by doing things like air-drying their hands in public restrooms instead of using paper towels.

I think it's just the contrarian in me, but when a cause becomes super trendy I find myself in the strange position of being vaguely annoyed by something that I actually support. (Celebrity adoptions also spark this reaction). I believe in protecting the environment, and we could all use a little consciousness-raising if we're going to keep our lovely little world from turning into an uninhabitable wasteland. But sometimes I can't help but question the power of one. Particularly in Southern California, where people proudly cart their designer canvas shopping bags around Trader Joe's and then hop into their ginormous cars. (If only SUV's could run on smugness).

There's also the rather frustrating issue of not quite knowing what we're supposed to be doing. Just last week, Nalgene bottles were the go-to liquid receptacles. This week, they might kill you. And people in poor countries all over the world are rioting over the increased cost of food. Apparently all the money that's been poured in ethanol subsidies is driving up corn prices and leaving other grains in short supply. I thought biofuels were supposed to be a good thing. Didn't we all think that one magical day we'd be running our cars on french fry grease?

It's all a little disconcerting, but it still behooves us to do the best we can. My own efforts at being more green fall into three categories:

Good things I do consciously: Recycle, drive a car with good gas mileage, turn off lights and appliances, cut way down on bottled water consumption and plastic bag usage.

Good things I do unconsciously: Take short showers (just efficient in this area), cut my daily commute by about 80 percent (circumstantial), don't use AC (don't have it), only wash clothes in cold water (too lazy to do more than one load at a time. I love the idea that my slothfulness is helping the Earth).

Good things I'd like to do but can't: Install energy efficient appliances in my apartment (I rent), drive less (L.A. not really built for walking, although I suppose that I don't have to drive to the Coffee Bean that's a mile from house.)

And then, of course, there's the fourth and largest category: Things I should be doing that I'm not. If you have any advice on what I can do to become greener, I'm all ears! Particularly, what should I be carrying my water in that won't, you know, poison me?

Negative Affirmations

My pal Sarah, in her-ever gentle way, has nudged me to participate in the insecurities meme. And how better to wile away a quiet late Thursday afternoon at work than a public airing of my grievances against myself?

So here we go:

1.) My age. I know, I'm only 27, I'm still young, I have my whole life ahead of me, blahbity, blah, blah. I really thought that I would greet my late 20s with a certain measure of grace and dignity, but my last birthday hit me a lot harder than I expected. It just seems like time is racing by and there's still so much I want to do before I really become an adult. I realize that I am indeed still young, but "still young" is not quite the same as "young." And that's something that I'll never be again.

Oh, and if you aren't sufficiently depressed now, the members of the recently-reunited New Kids On The Block are all pushing forty(!) Chew on that for awhile.

2.) My nose. During the past few years I've more or less come to terms with my features, but my nose is still kind of a sticking point. Let's put it this way...I'm half Jewish. I think most of that half is contained in my nose.

3.) My lack of hobbies. There are plenty of things that I like to do--go to movies and concerts, read, hang out with friends, drink wine. But these things don't really count as hobbies per se, and when people ask me what I like to do for fun my answers seem very bland. I feel like I should take up tennis, or learn to play an instrument or join a club or something. But the truth is that I've never really been much of a "joiner," and when I have some down time all I usually want to do is settle in with a good TV show on DVD, or see what new fashion atrocity is being committed on Go Fug Yourself. It's a bit of a conundrum.

4.) Highway Driving. This is something I definitely have in common with Sarah. Freeways are just part of life in Southern California, so I'm used to it and I actually like driving when traffic is manageable. But I've had enough close calls on the road to realize just how precarious hurtling down a crowded freeway at 70+ miles per hour can be. Also, I don't like driving with other people in my car. It's not because I'm too lazy to drive or too cheap to pay for gas, I just don't like having other people's lives in my hands.

5.) Being a bride. Just to clarify, it's not the wedding or the marriage that troubles me. It's more about my ambivalence toward the whole bridal culture. The idea that your life--from the moment you get engaged to the moment you march down the aisle in some giant taffeta monstrosity--should revolve around planning every perfect detail of your perfect day is very disturbing. On the other hand, poring over pictures of white silk dresses and sparkling rings makes me kind of giddy, and I find myself having endless internal debates over ridiculous details. This simply does not seem like a respectable way for a proper post-modern feminist to spend her time.

6.) Being so disorganized. I am definitely a "type B" personality. I've never met a desk or closet I couldn't clutter, nor a piece of important paperwork that I couldn't lose. And I staunchly defend my right to live in barely-contained chaos. After all, people who are disorganized are more creative, cooler and laid back. (Right?) But sometimes I wish I had natural penchant for organization. Overall, it would probably save me some headaches come tax time, or when I'm trying remember which of the piles on my floor are the clean clothes and which are the dirty ones.

7.) That I'm boring. Sometimes I worry that my life is just this endless march toward the status quo. I'm taking a memoir writing course this semester, and there's a guy in my class who is writing about being raised in New Jersey by his family of Albanian thugs. He has two cousins who once killed a man over cheese. How cool is that? It's not that I necessarily condone dairy-related violence, I guess I'm feeling like I need a little dose of "Funship" in my life.

So there you go. I guess if anyone on my blog roll wants to participate in this, consider yourself tagged!

It's True...We're SO Lame!

Hopefully, Obama's eloquent speech on Tuesday will spark a mature and serious national discussion about the issues of race and identity.

But in the meantime...

References to the blog Stuff White People Like are popping up everywhere lately. It seems to get quite a mixed reaction from readers, but I have to say that I find it pretty amusing. (I guess ironic self-derision is also something that white people like). I always knew that I was extremely white, but I didn't realize that I was such a walking, talking, blogging, public radio-listening stereotype.

And after my love letter to The Wire in my last post, I got a real kick out of #85.

All In The Game

You may have noticed that my posts, while never particularly regular, have been completely absent lately. This is due to:

a. working on a big assignment for my grad school class, a project that was immediately followed by

b. a trip back east to scout out wedding locations and finally settle on a date for THE BIG DAY.

(Even though the wedding is more than a year away it's amazing--and a little disturbing--how planning this one event has suddenly become the central focus of my life. While the rest of the world has been watching the Democratic Party slowly implode and googling "Emperors' Club" to see just what Eliot Spitzer has been up to, I have been agonizing over whether it's necessary to pay an extra $800 for a display of fruits and international cheeses at my reception. It's a sad state of affairs.)

and finally...

c. Matt and I have been racing through The Wire on DVD. And people, it is freaking AWESOME. It's the best show I've ever seen which, as a television junkie, is not a title that I bestow lightly. The fourth season in particular just broke my heart. I have to constantly remind myself that these characters aren't real. The only drawback to getting involved with the show is that if you watch enough of it, you'll find more four-letter words than usual creeping into your vocabulary. No doubt.

Anyway, these are my excuses for being such a delinquent blogger. I'm going to try to do better, but you know how life gets sometimes.

As the characters from The Wire might put it...It's all in the game, Motherfu**er!

A Humble Request

Hello Dear Readers--

For one of my grad school classes, I'm working on an article about Generation Y and why those of us in our twenties seem to have trouble becoming fully functioning grown-ups. (I'm sure my interest in this topic has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I'm turning 27 this week and am currently in the throes of a raging quarter-life crisis. But more on that later.)

Anyway, I need to interview a few twentysomethings out there about your experiences...what you define as adulthood, do you feel you've reached it yet and, if not, what's the hold up? And what better place to find interviewees than to turn to the Internets? So, if you are between the ages of 22 and 30, are not a personal friend or acquaintance of mine (since that would be journalistically unsound) and have something to say about this subject, drop me a line at GEM0216@gmail.com.

Also, the plan is to hopefully get this published somewhere so don't tell me anything you wouldn't want to see in print.

Thanks, and Happy Friday!

Meghan

Have a Super Tuesday!

I like to think that elections--while often bringing out the worst in the candidates and the media--tend to bring out the best in the rest of us. Everyone has an opinion, everyone takes a side and for a few heady months we're an engaged and passionate citizenry. And it's certainly been an unusually exciting primary season full of drama, intrigue, unlikely heroes, cold-blooded villains and Ron Paul. It's been so riveting, in fact, that it's almost made me forget about the writers' strike that has left my TiVo as empty and barren as Dick Cheney's heart.

Also, since I'm no longer a reporter I now have the luxury of being as openly partisan as I want to be. In that spirit, I took myself over to UCLA on Sunday for the big Obama rally.

It was sort of an awe-inspiring display--thousands of people cheering, waving signs and stomping in unison. There were whites, blacks, Latinos, families with young kids and lots of women. There was Oprah! And Caroline Kennedy! And Michelle Obama! (Who was impressive and inspiring and altogether lovely). There was an awkward moment when Stevie Wonder took a spill getting to the stage. And for the grand finale, Maria Shriver strode onto the stage and announced her support for Obama to an ecstatic crowd.

The sight of these four rather extraordinary women together effectively made the underlying point of the entire event--that it's o.k. to be a woman and vote for Obama. I think it's a difficult decision for any Democrat (and particularly any female Democrat) to make when faced with two ground-breaking choices. But I tend to agree with Oprah in that, instead of seeing a painful choice, voters should see a moment when they “are free from the constraints of gender and race" to make the best decision for themselves.

It would be nice if, instead of talking about the division between the two candidates, we appreciate that either one will represent a historic moment. However things fall today and during the next few weeks, I was impressed by the diversity and passion of the people who came out in the rain, on Superbowl Sunday, to support their candidate.

Finally, although I realize there are few things on this earth more annoying than over-earnest celebrities during an election season (not that I don't appreciate phone messages from Snoop Dogg encouraging me to do my civic duty), I found myself sort of moved by this video that was shown during the rally.

Well played, will.i.am.

This Is What Happens When You Don't Pay The Rent

We all have certain things--movies, books, plays, whatever--that we loved so much when we were young that, even when we outgrow them, they remain inextricably linked to a time and place in our lives. Which is why I felt a twinge of sadness when I heard that "Rent" will be closing on Broadway after 12 years. You could make the argument that the musical, for all intents and purposes, ended a while back when Joey Fatone assumed a lead role. But the play will always hold a special place in my heart.

It's hard for me to express now, or even to fully recall, how deeply this show affected me when I first saw it at the tender age of 16. It an awakening to a world that was passionate and exciting and so different from everything that I had ever known or experienced. They were bohemian artists! Who were gay! And had AIDS! (Well, that last part never struck me as particularly glamorous.) Nonetheless, I longed to throw off the shackles of my benign suburban existence and join them in that gritty urban wonderland known as the Lower East Side.

Because I didn't have the cash to pay bourgeois theater ticket prices, I only saw the show twice when it came through Chicago. But I played the soundtrack on a loop for a year. Or for 525,600 minutes. One way to measure a year is by the number of times you listened to the "Rent" soundtrack when you were 16. My friends were similarly obsessed, and we sang the music everywhere: in the car, at the lunch table, during press nights for the school newspaper. Even when I went to college, I first bonded with one of my best friends over how much we both loved the show. (She was one of the original "Rent-heads" in New York and to this day will not reveal to me how many times she's seen it.)

But time has a funny way of tarnishing the idols of our youth. When the movie version was released a couple of years ago I went to see it, partly out of nostalgia and partly hoping to rediscover what I had loved so much about it. Instead, I found myself slightly irritated by the whole production. While the characters on-screen were singing about artistic integrity and living La Vie Boheme, all I could think was, "Why won't you pay your rent? I pay rent. Everyone I know pays rent. Get over yourselves already and pay your damn rent!"

On a side note, it probably wasn't the brightest idea to have most of the original cast reprise their roles in the film version, considering they are now well in their 30s. There comes a point when squatting in an abandoned warehouse ceases to be an act of youthful rebellion and just becomes vagrancy. Also, as Matt pointed out when we left the theater, Mark's movie kind of sucks. It appears to be just random shots of his friends mugging for the camera. No wonder he and Roger couldn't even afford a space heater.

Even though its cultural moment has ended, I suppose that the show will still live on in some form. Something in its message about breaking convention and the desire to create a niche for yourself in the world will always resonate. However, I don't really know what the current generation of youngsters will make of "Rent" in a world where AIDS, while certainly still a very serious disease, doesn't have the same life-shattering implications that it did in the mid-90s. Where being openly gay no longer has the same power to shock the wider culture (even my grandmother liked that "Will and Grace" show), and if you want to be an avant-garde filmmaker all you have to do is upload videos on YouTube from the comfort of your parents' home.

Ultimately, I suspect that the phenomenal success of the show was emblematic of a specific time and place, just as I will always associate it with a specific time and place in my life. But if there's one thing that "Rent" has taught me over the years, it's that we all need to grow up sometime.

These Were A Few Of My Favorite Things

I know that we're already well on our way into 2008. But while 2007 is still fresh in our minds, I wanted to take a look back at some of my favorite books, movies, TV shows, etc. from the past year. I should note that not all of them were new in 2007, it just happened to be the year that they were new to me.

Movies:

-Once
This was hands-down my favorite movie of the year. Such a lovely and understated romance that felt hauntingly real. And the music was amazing, of course.

-Atonement
I'm a sucker for sweeping romantic epics, particularly sweeping romantic epics set during times of war. It's also a wonderful adaptation of a wonderful book that seemed like it would be really hard to adapt.

-Superbad
I really can't remember the last time I laughed this hard at a movie. Between this and Juno, my age-inappropriate crush on Michael Cera is undeniable.


TV Shows:

-Friday Night Lights (Season 1)
Let me state for the record that I hate football, and that living in a small Texas town where high school football is regarded as the reason for living is pretty much my idea of Hell. But the first season of FNL definitely stands as one of the great discoveries of 2007. It's a beautiful portrayal of just such a town and the people who inhabit it. Season 2 has been a disappointment so far (the Landry storyline? Really?), but Season 1 is an almost flawless work of art.

-Chuck
It's been a pretty disappointing season of television all around (damn you, Hollywood executives!), but Chuck was an unexpected surprise that has emerged as my favorite new show. It's fun and clever and every scene set in the Buy More makes me laugh. Josh Schwartz continues to indulge his self-referential streak, but I'll forgive him because of the awesome Halloween episode homage to "The OC."

-How I Met Your Mother
I'm a season behind on this show, having just finished Season 2 on DVD. It's such a genuinely funny show with characters that you wish you knew in real life. Speaking of which, I recently found myself standing behind Jason Segel at a coffee kiosk at the mall and it was all I could do not to start singing, "Let's go to the mall...TODAY!"

Books:

-The Year of Magical Thinking (Joan Didion)
Such a beautiful and heartbreaking depiction of love and loss.

-Special Topics in Calamity Physics (Marisha Pessl)
Part murder mystery and part coming-of-age story, the writing is a bit overblown but the book is a lot of fun to read. I can't quite explain why, but I've always been a big fan of stories about precocious adolescent girls who solve crimes.

-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (J.K. Rowling)
Great read and a solid finish to a fantastic series (except for that irritating epilogue).

Music:

-Bishop Allen
I'm not very good at writing about music, but Bishop Allen's second album "The Broken String" is a perfect blend of smart, infectious indie pop. Flight 180 is probably my most played song of the year.

-Wolf Parade
An awesome band introduced to me by my friend Sarah, who is a devotee of band member Spencer Krug. Worth seeing them live just for a demonstration of Krug's aerobic keyboarding.

-Once soundtrack
See above.

Overall, a pretty good year in the annals of pop culture. Feel free to holler back with your favorite movie, book or celebrity meltdown from the year that was.

Blogiversary

It's occurred to me that my little blog is a year old this week. To commemorate this small milestone, I've spent the past couple of hours at work reading over some of my old posts. I've never kept a diary (despite a few half-hearted attempts when I was a preteen, which mainly consisted of writing about boys I had crushes on and how my parents were fascists for not letting me watch R-rated movies), so it's a new and interesting experience to have a written record of a year of my life.

I suddenly remember very clearly where I was and why I started this blog a year ago. Basically, I was stuck. I was tired of my job and of writing articles I didn't care about for people who didn't much care to read them. I was tired of suburbia and maintaining a semi-long distance relationship. I was also soon to be homeless, as my wonderful roommates were all moving on to the next stages of their lives. I needed a creative outlet, and I was hoping that the New Year would bring a much needed change; something to shake me out of the lethargy I had fallen into.

And did it ever. In the past 12 months I: began a new job, moved to L.A. and into my first apartment with Matt, started grad school and got engaged. And somewhere, in the midst of night classes and learning to color coordinate home furnishings and talking about wedding plans, something shifted inside me--I could actually feel myself growing up and moving into a new phase in my life. It's been a little scary at points, and I certainly don't have it all figured out yet. But mostly it's been pretty great.

I can't say that starting the blog directly led to any of these changes. But maybe it made me a little more optimistic, or changed my perspective and helped me to look at my world in a slightly different way. Sometimes when you don't know what to do, it's best to just do SOMETHING.

So here's to The Notebook. Even if I sometimes neglect it (see the month of December), and even if my readership is small (yet unerringly loyal, thanks guys!), I have a real affection for my humble little corner of the Internet. And I can't wait to see to where 2008 takes us!

Back To The Future

I'll be the first to admit that I don't exactly live on the cutting-edge of technology. I was very slow to embrace online social networking until I discovered the addictive joy of cyber-stalking people via Facebook. I still don't really know how to work the four remotes that are mysteriously required to operate our one TV. I didn't own an iPod until a year ago. Hell, until about 2002 I was dragging a Walkman with me to the gym. Not even a Discman, people. A WALKMAN.

So it might just be the non-techie in me talking here, but I just do not get this new Kindle contraption. Apparently, the great appeal of the product is that it's a wireless, hand-held electronic reading device that's approximately as small and lightweight as...wait for it...a book! Books, I might add, are also wireless, hand-held reading devices.

According to Amazon, it can instantly access more than 90,000 titles and store up to 200 books at a time, which I admit would be pretty handy for traveling. But it also costs $399. I mean, think about how many actual books you could buy for $399! For someone who reads at a steady pace of about a book a month, it will take at least a couple of years for the Kindle to start being cost effective. (Hey, I just did math!)

Who knows. Maybe digitizing books is what it will take for people to start reading again. The AP reported a few months ago that 25 percent of adults didn't even read A book last year, which is sort of horrifying. Maybe it's all that archaic paper and exhausting page turning that has been holding the literary world back.

Still, I have my doubts. In my experience, book lovers tend to hold onto their favorite tomes like treasures. As Jo March from Little Women once said, "Some books are so familiar, reading them is like being home again." (She might have just said that in the movie version, but it doesn't make it any less true). It's hard to imagine a Kindle evoking the same kind of response. Books are meant to be loved and dog-eared and displayed on shelves. And let's face it, if you slogged your way through Ulysses or The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire than, dammit, you want everyone who visits your home to know it!

And then there's the whole issue of the name. I'm not quite sure what they're going for by calling it "Kindle." Does it mean that they're hoping to ignite the general populace's love of reading? Or that we should all run out and burn our old books now that the Kindle has arrived?

It's hard for me to imagine it really catching on, but I've certainly been wrong before. It could be that in a few years almost everyone will be reading by Kindle-light, while the remaining holdouts cling to our outdated paper and wait for books to come back as retro-chic---like people in the 70s who hung on to their vinyl and swear it still sounds better.

I guess I'm just a retro kind of girl.

In Which I Make Al Gore Cry Non-Biodegradable Tears

A few days ago, I read an article in the New York Times about how Portland has become a super bicycle-friendly city and has the nation's highest percentage of workers who commute by bike

After I read it, I felt a pang of guilt about the fact that I live in the most car-centric city in the world. The moment passed quickly, however, when I remembered that I love my car, and hate bicycle riders.

Yes, driving in Southern California can be torturous. It's ALWAYS rush hour here, and when it rains people completely forget that their vehicles come equipped with brakes. Sometimes when I'm sitting in traffic on the freeway I momentarily lose my mind and scream at the cars around me, "JUST MOVE ALREADY. MOVE! LUCIFER'S BEARD, WHY AREN'T YOU MOVING?!"

But the point is that I can scream. I'm safely tucked away in my own little temperature-controlled cocoon of steel and glass, where I can listen to NPR or sing along with my awesome mix CD as loudly as I want. I know it's wrong, but I just can't help it. As much as I miss living in a pedestrian-friendly city, I do NOT miss public transportation. I do NOT miss standing outside in sub-zero temperatures in the middle of winter, waiting to cram myself into a jam-packed train full of people with questionable personal hygiene.

(For those who may not know, Los Angeles does actually have a subway. This is something I often forget, but I was reminded the other night when I caught the last 20 minutes of "Speed" on cable. I have yet to meet anyone in this city who has ever actually ridden it, and it wouldn't surprise me to find out that someone built it for the sole purpose of filming a movie scene and then just decided it was easier to leave it there.)

As for my general dislike of cyclists, well the truth is that they just bother me. They pedal along, blithely unaware of all the disgruntled drivers behind them, and seem to believe that their two-wheeled dexterity exempts them from following the rules of the road. The run-ins I've had with bicycle riders over the years have done nothing to dispel my prejudice. Back in college when I was Rollerblading (remember Rollerblades?), a man who was riding behind me accused me of somehow causing him to crash and fall of his bicycle. And because I stupidly gave him my real name, he sued me for $2,000 worth of damage to his bike. Another time, while jogging, a cyclist running a red light smacked into me and sent me sprawling into the middle of the busiest street in Boston.

Need another example? My friend Neetu (who is an avid cyclist, but I forgive her because she has many other admirable qualities) once took a nasty spill while riding her bike around the college town she lives in. While she was lying prostate on the sidewalk, a man with a hook for a hand attempted to administer first aid to her. Which just goes to show you that nothing good ever comes from riding a bike.

So, my apologies to Al, the lovely, outdoorsy people of Portland and Plant Earth. On this particular issue we're just going to have to agree to disagree. When it comes to my little blue Toyota, my attitude isn't very green. In fact, it's more of a smoggy gray.

Ballroom Blitz

Bet you thought that after I got engaged my posts would be full of sappy declarations of love and dreamy visions of my upcoming union. I kind of thought that too. But after only two months of engagement bliss and being mesmerized by the sparkling addition to my left hand, reality has sunk in.

Being engaged means there will be a wedding. Which means we have to plan a wedding. Which means we have to figure out to pay for a wedding. And when you have two large sets of Irish Catholic families anticipating a full and robust bar, a sister who is morally opposed to bridesmaid dresses, and a mother who is a rabid ABBA fan--well, the task of putting together an event that will make everyone happy becomes quite daunting.

We took our tentative first steps a few weeks ago when we went to Barnes & Noble to pick out a wedding planning guide. There were literally hundreds of books and planners promising to deliver the crucial advice needed to achieve the wedding of your dreams on any budget. One particularly unhelpful guide recommended that to save money we should forgo the open bar and just buy a keg. It also suggested choosing an inexpensive yet memorable venue--like the Minneapolis City Zoo!

As I looked at Matt across the stacks of bright pink books full of pictures of happy brides, I could see the rising panic I was feeling reflected in his eyes. If we couldn't t even commit to choosing a book about wedding planning, how were we going to plan an actual wedding?

So this is where you, dear reader, come in. To anyone who's ever planned a wedding, had a wedding or even ever been to a wedding, I'm pleading for any advice or guidance you can give me. In exchange for your assistance, I promise not to turn this blog into a forum for my bridezilla-esque rantings.

Unless, of course, you've long harbored a desire to visit the Minneapolis City Zoo.

Delurk If You Love Jesus!

Ok, so I'm a day late on this. When have I ever been on time for anything?

The point is that now is the time to come out of lurking. If you're just stopping by, or if Google--in its infinite wisdom--brought you here by accident, drop a line and tell me something about yourself. Like, what's your favorite Jeopardy category?

If you're a regular commenter, post something anyway. I need validation, damnit!

You Are What You Watch

Last week was a very eventful week out in the world. Iranian president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad (that's pronounced "I'm in a dinner jacket," thanks Katie Couric!) visited Columbia University. Bill O'Reilly made an even bigger ass of himself than usual. Some truly awful stuff went down in Myanmar/Burma.

And, oh yeah, Tyra Banks demonstrated the proper position to assume whilst receiving a bikini wax on national television--thus heralding the beginning of another Fall TV season.

I was a little bummed when it occurred to me that I wasn't particularly excited about any returning show. My beloved Veronica Mars is gone, off to solve the mystery of why we should care that The CW even exists. I've declared this season of Grey's Anatomy Dead On Arrival, and Battlestar Galactica doesn't come back until the winter. For the first September in a long time, I was sans appointment television.

Then, I realized that this is really an opportunity for a fresh start. My Season Pass function is a blank canvas waiting to be filled. So I decided to treat the new television season as if it were all-you-can-eat night at the Schezwan Palace--that is to say, stuff myself with little bit of everything and then see what brings me back for seconds.

So here for your viewing pleasure is a quick run-down of the hits, misses and first impressions from the past week:

Heroes: Unlike the rest of America, I didn't really fall in love with Heroes last season. I'm giving it a second shot to suck me in, mainly because Kristen Bell is joining the cast. The real battle this season will be to see who emerges as the most adorable, blond super-girl on the show. (My money says Veronica Mars kicks the cheerleader's ass).

Gossip Girl: I figured that if it was even half as fun as the first season of The OC it would be worthwhile. So far it seems trite and over-the-top soapy...yet still better than seasons 2-4 of The OC. I doubt I'll stick with it. Could it be that I've just gotten too old for teen dramas? (Nah....)

Chuck: The nerds have indeed inherited the earth. Or at least a bunch of national security secrets. The pilot was fun, we'll see how it goes.

30 Rock: The new season hasn't started yet, but I'm planning on bumping this up to Season Pass status. I adore Tina Fey. I kind of want to be her.

Dirty Sexy Money: I decided to check this one out because it starred Nate from Six Feet Under. The money part is accurate, but I'm not really sold on the dirty and the sexy. (On a side note, Dakota Fanning's little sister is on the show. She looks so much like her older sibling that I'm really starting to think there's a factory somewhere in Hollywood that mass produces Fanning children.)

Moonlight: Watched this one because V.M. alum Jason Dohring is in the cast. Instead of playing the bad-boy high school love interest, he now plays a bad-boy immortal vampire, which is like three steps up the bad-boy ladder. But still, a show about a vampire who fights crime in Los Angeles? It's already been done--and byJoss Whedon, which automatically means it's been done better.

How I Met Your Mother: I recently watched the first season on DVD after hearing some good things about it, and I was totally charmed. The show is sort of like Friends' cooler, more down-to-earth cousin. And if his appearance in "Harold and Kumar" wasn't enough to renew your all-encompassing love of Neil Patrick Harris, his performance on HIMYM will. It might even be leg-en-dary.

That's all for now. If you have any suggestions or recommendations feel free to pass them along, although it looks like my plate is going to be pretty full. Also, sometimes I like to, you know, read stuff.

As Time Goes By

Matt and I were 18 when we met, which I admit is a ridiculous age to meet the person you're going to end up spending your life with.

We were Freshman in college, and we lived on the same floor in our dorm. Matt says he remembers seeing me at the floor meeting on the day we all moved in. I remember that meeting too...I was terrified and excited and, if I'm not mistaken, I was wearing my hair in pigtails (probably my idea of dorm fashion at the time--cute but not trying too hard). Icebreakers and pigtails are a ridiculous way to meet the person you're going to end up spending your life with.

Over the next few months, I don't exactly remember how, he became my best friend. And then he became more. I won't subject you to all the details of our eight-year relationship, but suffice it to say that along the way there were break-ups and break downs, long-distance drama and moments of uncertainty. When people ask me how we've stayed together through all of our tumultuous young adult years, my stock answer is that it hasn't always been easy, but it's always been worth it.

Sometimes I think our entire relationship can be summed up by our first subway ride together. One night, very early into that first fall, we decided to take a study break and head over to Tower Records. It was only a few blocks away, but we were new to the city so we jumped on the Green Line for a two-stop ride.

I don't really remember what we talked about on the way. What I do remember is that when the conversation finally paused, we realized we'd overshot our destination by about seven stops. Instead of heading right back, we got off the train and walked around the Boston Common; the first of probably a thousand times we'd wander around the city together, just walking and talking. Of course I didn't know it at the time, but that night became a blueprint for all the nights that would follow--never running out of things to say to each other and never wanting the ride to end.

So now, we are engaged. In some ways it feels like everything has been happening very fast. After all, just six months ago we were moving in together, picking out our couch and stressing about the $700 price tag. Now we're talking about planning a wedding (talk about escalation). But really, we've spent the better part of a decade getting here.

And what a ride it's been.

Climb Aboard The Funship

I've been thinking a lot lately about the paths we choose in life--probably because I recently underwent a career shift and am also going back to school for the first time in more than four years (scary).

In college, I majored in journalism. It's hard to remember now whether I chose that because I deeply wanted to be a journalist, or because I wanted to get paid to write and reporting seemed like the best way to accomplish that. Either way, that's what I did and eventually--after a prohibitively expensive undergraduate education, a few non-paid internships and a brief stint of unemployment--I landed a real reporting job at a newspaper in Southern California.

Journalism is one of those jobs that look extremely glamorous and interesting on television and in the movies, but which in reality consists of more drudgery than you could possibly imagine. I'm sure it's quite a fabulous life if you're a New York Times columnist or spend your days in the White House press room, but I was a city reporter at a mid-size regional newspaper, and therefore spent most of my time at city council meetings listening to officials harangue over land use zoning and whether to allow another Wal-Mart in town.

Not to say that the job was all bad. Even the most ordinary lives and places have extraordinary moments, and occasionally a story would come along that was truly interesting and inspiring. But after a while I just burned out on it--the long hours, the crappy pay, the nightly deadlines, living in the burbs and wearing my car into the ground by chasing down stories through two counties.

So a few months ago I took a new job and went in a different direction. I still work in media and still write for a living, but it's a totally different experience. Now, my days are structured and relatively low-stress. I work with great people who promote a healthy work-life balance and bring in a salary that keeps me above the poverty line.

Day-to-day, I'm so much happier and less bitter than I used to be. But there's this small, nagging part of me that wonders if maybe I've robbed myself of something by taking a path that's smoother and, in some ways, less challenging.

My friend Susannah has this great word for experiences that suck while you're going through them, but which you remember fondly once they're over. She calls it "funship," which I assume is an amalgam of Fun and Hardship. Funship is the trip you take where everything goes calamitously wrong, but which provides you with the best stories to laugh over and share for the rest of our life. (And really, who remembers the trips where everything goes swimmingly?) Funship is the battle scar you end up being grateful for, even thought it hurt like hell at the time.

I realize, in hindsight, one thing that I do miss about the daily news grind is the funship--like the time shortly after I started the job that I was sent into the mountains to cover a wildfire while wearing open-toed wedge-heeled sandals. (What I learned from that experience is that a reporter always carries jeans and an extra pair of sneakers in his or her car). Or the afternoon I spent staking out a goat farm where the father of a wanted man was purported to be living. Or when, as a lowly intern, I was sent out in the middle of the night to investigate the reported appearance of the Virgin Mary in a hospital window.

At the time, I cursed the job and the gods of news for putting me in such ridiculous situations. But now that I have a little distance I'm grateful for those years at the newspaper, even if I have no real desire to go back to them. They challenged and shaped me; at times they pushed me out of my comfort zone and tested my limits.

It seems like sometimes we try so hard to insulate ourselves from funship--not just in our jobs, but in our lives as a whole. I guess it's natural to crave security and a life free of frustration. But why is it that, when we look back, it's the unexpected adventures and the minor catastrophes that enrich our lives and make us more interesting dinner conversationalists?

Whatever path lies ahead of me--whether it's straight or crooked, rocky or well-paved--I both hope, and fear, that it's full of funship.

Hip To Be Square

One of the more interesting aspects of life in Los Angeles is the ability to observe hipsters in their natural environment. Of course, the species* can be found in virtually any major metropolitan area, but in L.A. they seem to flourish like hothouse flowers.

Because I enjoy indie music and movies, and have several friends who are wannabe filmmakers, I occasionally find myself hovering on the fringes of hipster culture. But even after four years in Southern California, I still feel more like a cultural anthropologist than a member of the tribe. Maybe it's because my bangs--despite being carefully sculpted by a Beverly Hills stylist every six to eight weeks--never seem to fall quite right. I've tried the leggings under an oversized shirt thing a few times and, while I thought it looked rather fetching, I still walked around all day saying to myself, "good God, I'm a 26-year-old in tights!"

Alas, unhipness seems to be coded into my DNA, like the Midwestern twang I've never quite shaken and my inexplicable love for Kenny Loggins (who, I have on good authority, is dead sexy in concert).

While I can take solace in the fact that I would probably be the coolest person at a Kenny Loggins concert, such is not the case in my daily life. Still, living in the epicenter of tragic hipsterdom does have its moments--like when you're at a Los Feliz bar (which, incidentally, is located next to a cafe called the "Bourgeois Pig") and a group of people in funky hats at the table next to you break into an impromptu script reading. Or when you show up at a concert in Echo Park and see Santino Rice from Season 2 of Project Runway standing outside the venue

(I fear I may be going overboard lately with reporting my celebrity sightings. But then again, what's the point of living in the superficial cesspool that is L.A. if you can't regale people with stories of bumping into the enfant terrible of reality television outside of Echo Park clubs?)

When I saw Santino, resplendent in skinny black pants and a hot pink bandanna underneath a fedora, I suspected I was a little out of my coolness league. Surely enough, the Bishop Allen show was chockablock with waifish twenty-somethings sporting stovepipe jeans, black-rimmed glasses and artfully sideswept bangs.

Still, my lack of the proper accoutrement did nothing to damper my enjoyment of the show, and Matt and I even decided to splurge on t-shirts to advertise our love of all things Bishop Allen. Matt was at first reticent, fearing the t-shirt would suggest he was trying to acquire a false geek-chic aesthetic, when his look is really more straight-up geek. But I talked him into it and, if I do say so myself, he looks dead sexy in it.

On a side note, if you get a chance to check out the band, they're pretty great. I stalkerishly feel like I have a connection to the two frontmen, who formed the group while living in Boston in the early 2000s. (The band is named after the street they lived on in Cambridge.) Also, they have both been featured in this guy's movies, who used to work with Matt's friend Kate at the Trident Bookstore on Newbury Street.

As you can see, me and the band are practically BFF.

Anyway, midway through the show I noticed a guy standing near me who appeared to be even more out of place than I felt. The poor sod was at least 40, and was wearing stone-washed jeans, a button-down shirt TUCKED IN and some kind of bizarre cowboy boot/loafer hybrid upon his feet. At one point between songs he leaned over to the young Elvis Costello doppelganger standing next to him and said, rather sheepishly, "what do you think the average age here is, "25?"

Costello just shrugged his shoulders dismissively, and unhip old guy returned to his place at the edge of the group. Part of me wanted to go over to him and offer some words of comfort--something about how maybe no one ever really feels like they fit in and it's all just bullshit anyway.

But of course I didn't actually go up to him and say anything. In the end, I figured he probably just got lost on the way to the Kenny Loggins show.


* In case you are wondering if you meet the criteria to be a true hipster, you may find this helpful.