In my iPod right now: Fade Into You by Mazzy Star
A few weeks ago, the Waldenbooks in the Plaza Del Sol "Mall" in Del Rio, Texas shut its doors for good. In truth, it was a crummy bookstore that appeared to be run by a bunch of teenagers who felt it more important to gab and text on their cell phones than to ring up a customer's purchase. The place was in total disarray most of the time, clearly demonstrating where the workers' priorities were. It was really a sad leftover from the 80's, when B. Dalton's and Waldenbooks ruled the world (I know this because together they were responsible for enabling my severe "Sweet Valley High" habit.) It gave me none of those great feelings and imaginary conversations that bookstores seem to promote for me (such as "See how smart and interesting I am? I like to browse history books."). This Waldenbooks had no coffee shop, no music section, no greeting card/gift collection. But it did have one thing going for it: it was the only game in town. When I saw what was happening, why it was having a big "40% off everything sale," I was too sad to even peruse the great bargains. Instead, I went to my car and cried.
The thing is: seeing any store or restaurant going out of business has always made me melancholy. For some people, I guess it's nice to take advantage of the sales, but I can't see past the fact that someone's project, maybe even someone's dream, has died. It's why I have trouble watching "You've Got Mail." I'm the one who needs the tissues when Meg Ryan closes her mother's children's bookstore. It's positively heartbreaking. I guess we're supposed to be happy that Tom Hanks and the big Fox Books rescues her, but it's still hard to watch. I'm not even saying that I wouldn't have patronized Fox Books (I did, after all, pay $25 annually to be a Barnes and Noble "member"). But I still like to support the mom and pop shops if I can, even if they're more expensive. It's worth it; supporting the dream is worth it.
On a more personal level, I can't help but be disturbed that my little town can't keep a bookstore in business. I'm an aspiring novelist, after all. And my success depends on readers. I am all for being that sellout I talked about in my last post. I know times are tough, and almost every industry is suffering, but this is my plea to you:
Please Keep Supporting the Publishing Industry.
You know that feeling you get when you've read a really great book: that feeling that you've escaped to another world. It's a feeling that immerses you, that makes your imagination soar - much more than a two hour movie ever could.
Cherish it.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
The Sellout
In my iPod right now: “Everyday is Like Sunday” by Morrissey
Is it just me, or does it suddenly seem like cupcakes are everywhere? Granted, cupcakes are no strangers to mainstream society. They were the perfect little treat for kids to bring in to elementary school on their birthdays. They were a staple of bake sales and cake walks. In my elementary school in Michigan, there were even random cupcake weeks, where we could purchase a homemade cupcake for a quarter to raise money for some cause (this was also a convenient way for my mom to dispense with some of that annoying Canadian change you must inevitably deal with as a Michigander). But cupcakes are now out of control! I saw no less than five bookstore displays this Christmas of cupcake-themed recipe books. I keep seeing cupcake designs on birthday cards and baby clothes.
Sure, it’s nice to know that cupcakes aren’t going anywhere, but I am a little bittersweet. I had this naive notion that cupcakes were kind of my special thing. Turns out they’re everyone’s.
I guess it’s kind of like music. In the early 90’s, I was a big fan of so-called “alternative” music. From Concrete Blonde, to Echo and the Bunnymen, to James. Whatever they were selling, I was buying. But then something happened: alternative became mainstream. Suddenly people were complaining about bands like Pearl Jam and R.E.M. “selling out.” How dare they expand their fan base? Shame on them for making money doing something they love!
Ridiculous, if you think about it. Why shouldn’t bands and cupcakes be successful? If I’m truly a fan, shouldn’t I want what’s best for them? And, of course, without mainstream success, we’d never get to have those bragging rights – those “I knew them way back when” stories.
Side note: The only person interested in these stories is the person telling them. The rest of us couldn’t care less about that person who saw Live at some general admission concert at Wabash College in the Spring of 1993, right before Throwing Copper hit it big. (Oh wait – that person was me.)
But I still can’t get used to hearing “Everyday is Like Sunday” in NFL commercials...
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Back in Blog
In my iPod right now: "These Photographs" by Joshua Radin
Competing in my head: "Back in Black" by AC/DC (of course!)
It's New Year's Resolution time, right? Well, I'm not making any. Except that I will try to blog more. I think I said this last year too. Look how that turned out .... In any case, I've seen other blogs that list what the writer is listening to - and I love that idea. I love music. This way, I always get to share without a separate "I Recommend" post. And perhaps the music will give me blogging ideas. Perhaps??
My husband and I just got back from our holiday trip to Denver to visit his mom. And, as luck would have it, three of my sorority sisters (all from my class) live there - and they were ALL around to meet and catch up for awhile. It's always fun to rehash the college stories. My friend Betsy, in particular, reminded me of a poem I wrote in her honor - describing a beer goggled incident in which she stole some poor caterer's sandwich while he was innocently roasting a hog on a spit in the backyard of some fraternity house. Poor guy. But it was damn funny.
Well, I got home and managed to find my journal from the years 1992 - 1996 (yes, I recognize that this ages me - and no, I don't like it one bit). One hundred and twenty-six poems and "thoughts," folks! Most of them Smiths/Morrissey/Cure - inspired garbage (not that The Smiths or The Cure churn out garbage at all, but the sad outlook they seemed to bring out in me was not becoming). However, a few of them weren't bad, if I do say so myself. One entry, in particular, made me laugh. And since I have nothing else to blog about, I am repeating it here, 16 years later (oh God, I'm old):
Untitled:
I think I know why my parents didn't spoil me when I was a child. I wanted all of these toys, and sometimes when I got them, they weren't as neat as the commercials said, and then I never played with them and wouldn't let my friends either. But I liked my Barbie a lot because I only had one - the other ones I had that kind of looked like Barbie were the hollow drugstore kind. But if I had been given as many Barbies as I'd wanted, I probably would have been careless with them, like how my one friend Christine was, because she had so many Barbies and threw them all in a big white bucket with no clothes on. I feel good, too, because deep down I know that my Barbie had it better. It's a good thing I wasn't spoiled like Christine, because if I had been, I'd probably treat people like she treated her Barbies.
Competing in my head: "Back in Black" by AC/DC (of course!)
It's New Year's Resolution time, right? Well, I'm not making any. Except that I will try to blog more. I think I said this last year too. Look how that turned out .... In any case, I've seen other blogs that list what the writer is listening to - and I love that idea. I love music. This way, I always get to share without a separate "I Recommend" post. And perhaps the music will give me blogging ideas. Perhaps??
My husband and I just got back from our holiday trip to Denver to visit his mom. And, as luck would have it, three of my sorority sisters (all from my class) live there - and they were ALL around to meet and catch up for awhile. It's always fun to rehash the college stories. My friend Betsy, in particular, reminded me of a poem I wrote in her honor - describing a beer goggled incident in which she stole some poor caterer's sandwich while he was innocently roasting a hog on a spit in the backyard of some fraternity house. Poor guy. But it was damn funny.
Well, I got home and managed to find my journal from the years 1992 - 1996 (yes, I recognize that this ages me - and no, I don't like it one bit). One hundred and twenty-six poems and "thoughts," folks! Most of them Smiths/Morrissey/Cure - inspired garbage (not that The Smiths or The Cure churn out garbage at all, but the sad outlook they seemed to bring out in me was not becoming). However, a few of them weren't bad, if I do say so myself. One entry, in particular, made me laugh. And since I have nothing else to blog about, I am repeating it here, 16 years later (oh God, I'm old):
Untitled:
I think I know why my parents didn't spoil me when I was a child. I wanted all of these toys, and sometimes when I got them, they weren't as neat as the commercials said, and then I never played with them and wouldn't let my friends either. But I liked my Barbie a lot because I only had one - the other ones I had that kind of looked like Barbie were the hollow drugstore kind. But if I had been given as many Barbies as I'd wanted, I probably would have been careless with them, like how my one friend Christine was, because she had so many Barbies and threw them all in a big white bucket with no clothes on. I feel good, too, because deep down I know that my Barbie had it better. It's a good thing I wasn't spoiled like Christine, because if I had been, I'd probably treat people like she treated her Barbies.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
"The Suite"
While there are plenty of contrary opinions out there around the world, as an American, I feel that I have many reasons to be proud of this country. Of course it's not perfect; I'd even go so far as to guess that no country is. Part of what makes a country great is the refusal to accept complacency - to strive for better. One of the areas in which I think that the U.S. generally gets it right is its laws regarding access for the disabled. Ramps, elevators, parking spaces . . . we've got them. As we should.
But American women don't seem to agree about the proper etiquette concerning one of our accommodations for the disabled, a little place my friend Colleen likes to call "The Suite." The Suite is your standard disabled-friendly bathroom stall, the one that is extra roomy, has a bar along the wall, and sometimes even has its own private sink (the real score). How do I know about all of these features? Because I have visited the Suite many times. (I have even visited the Johnny-on-the-Spot Suite, which is certainly not ideal, but still better than the alternative.)
Sometimes, however, I hear other women talk about the Suite like it's off-limits to the fully-abled - at all times. Do they really believe this? And if so, is it true? Maybe I am a bad person for taking advantage of the extra benefits the Suite has to offer. But then, I am not sure I am in the wrong here. If there were someone with a disability standing behind me in line for the restroom and the Suite suddenly became available, of course, OF COURSE, I'd allow said person to move in front of me and use the Suite. But in general, it's not like a parking space. I'm not planning to occupy the Suite all day. And sometimes, the Suite is the only one available.
When you've gotta go, you've gotta go.
But American women don't seem to agree about the proper etiquette concerning one of our accommodations for the disabled, a little place my friend Colleen likes to call "The Suite." The Suite is your standard disabled-friendly bathroom stall, the one that is extra roomy, has a bar along the wall, and sometimes even has its own private sink (the real score). How do I know about all of these features? Because I have visited the Suite many times. (I have even visited the Johnny-on-the-Spot Suite, which is certainly not ideal, but still better than the alternative.)
Sometimes, however, I hear other women talk about the Suite like it's off-limits to the fully-abled - at all times. Do they really believe this? And if so, is it true? Maybe I am a bad person for taking advantage of the extra benefits the Suite has to offer. But then, I am not sure I am in the wrong here. If there were someone with a disability standing behind me in line for the restroom and the Suite suddenly became available, of course, OF COURSE, I'd allow said person to move in front of me and use the Suite. But in general, it's not like a parking space. I'm not planning to occupy the Suite all day. And sometimes, the Suite is the only one available.
When you've gotta go, you've gotta go.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Fooling Ourselves
Hey everyone! It's officially turkey day on the East Coast (here in Del Rio, we're still shy approximately five minutes)! I could blog about how I spent all day making pies, but I won't. It was pretty anticlimactic (although, I confess that I did have a little taste of my friend Brenda's famous pumpkin bars just to make sure I didn't screw them up (I didn't - and yum!)). Instead, I thought of the perfect blog topic the other night: why do we fool ourselves?
I'm sure we're all guilty of the occasional white lie every now and then. (Frankly, I don't think I could be friends with someone who didn't engage in this practice once in awhile. It's just human nature and a useful resource for sparing feelings.) But what I really don't get is when we try to trick ourselves into believing something. Don't we know ourselves well enough by this point in life? How could we fall for such a thing?
A simple example of this is my constant need to rationalize what I eat. Oh, food regrets - those are the worst. So, in an effort to assuage the guilt I feel after gorging on some snack or sweet, I'll often try to convince myself that I didn't have a full serving or that it didn't have any calories as the package says because it's Sunday or something. Do I buy these ridiculous excuses? No, not really. But I continue to do it, time and time again.
The ultimate attempt to fool myself, though, is when I insist that I am not, I am NOT falling asleep. Here's what I mean: Often, when I'm snuggled up on the couch at night watching the boob tube, I'll start to doze off. But I'm not willing to throw in the towel yet. Oh no. I will finish, MUST finish whatever pointless thing I'm watching. So here's my genius plan: I will simply rest my eyes for a little while, but not to worry - I will still be able to follow the story, sporting event, what-have-you, by LISTENING.
Has this strategy ever worked? Nope. Not even once. Not when my brother and I stayed up late while we were in high school watching "Zapped Again" (which Scott Baio was evidently too good for) on one of the cheap local cable channels. Not during my first three attempts at getting all of the way through the movie "Fletch" (great movie, but it was like some kind of weird curse - sometime after Fletch told them to "put it on the Underhill's tab," the sandman would pay me a visit). Not when I watched my Ti-Fauxed episode of "Samantha Who?" from the other night. (I would start the episode, fall asleep about five minutes in, wake up at some point after the credits and, INCREDIBLY, try to get through it again - with the same master plan.)
The point? I'm not fooling anyone. But you can't blame me for trying.
I'm sure we're all guilty of the occasional white lie every now and then. (Frankly, I don't think I could be friends with someone who didn't engage in this practice once in awhile. It's just human nature and a useful resource for sparing feelings.) But what I really don't get is when we try to trick ourselves into believing something. Don't we know ourselves well enough by this point in life? How could we fall for such a thing?
A simple example of this is my constant need to rationalize what I eat. Oh, food regrets - those are the worst. So, in an effort to assuage the guilt I feel after gorging on some snack or sweet, I'll often try to convince myself that I didn't have a full serving or that it didn't have any calories as the package says because it's Sunday or something. Do I buy these ridiculous excuses? No, not really. But I continue to do it, time and time again.
The ultimate attempt to fool myself, though, is when I insist that I am not, I am NOT falling asleep. Here's what I mean: Often, when I'm snuggled up on the couch at night watching the boob tube, I'll start to doze off. But I'm not willing to throw in the towel yet. Oh no. I will finish, MUST finish whatever pointless thing I'm watching. So here's my genius plan: I will simply rest my eyes for a little while, but not to worry - I will still be able to follow the story, sporting event, what-have-you, by LISTENING.
Has this strategy ever worked? Nope. Not even once. Not when my brother and I stayed up late while we were in high school watching "Zapped Again" (which Scott Baio was evidently too good for) on one of the cheap local cable channels. Not during my first three attempts at getting all of the way through the movie "Fletch" (great movie, but it was like some kind of weird curse - sometime after Fletch told them to "put it on the Underhill's tab," the sandman would pay me a visit). Not when I watched my Ti-Fauxed episode of "Samantha Who?" from the other night. (I would start the episode, fall asleep about five minutes in, wake up at some point after the credits and, INCREDIBLY, try to get through it again - with the same master plan.)
The point? I'm not fooling anyone. But you can't blame me for trying.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Who Says Nothing Happens in Del Rio?
Okay, I admit it. I've said that. Many times. When one of the approximately two decent restaurants in town is dead at prime time on a Saturday night, this necessarily causes me to question what on earth people are doing in Del Rio. (Incidentally, Chili's is always hopping; no, I do not consider that one of the select two, although, relative to its competition from iHop to Pizza Hut, it's certainly passable.)
I've voiced my concern several times to my friends in far sexier places (New York, D.C., Dallas, Austin), and I have to tell you - I love my friends. In times of waning excitement, it's nice to know that my peeps are looking out for me. Case in point: I received a flood of e-mails from my preferentially-located pals yesterday with the following (or a very similar) headline:
‘Bachelor’ winner arrested for unruliness; Mary Delgado was arrested after refusing to leave a Texas bar
http://www.austin360.com/news/content/shared-gen/ap/TV/People_Bachelor_Winner_Arrest.html
"Where could this Texas bar be?" I hear you ask. Well, that's the interesting part. Yes, you can probably gather from the context that, indeed, baby-obsessed Bachelor Bob runner-up and Bachelor Byron winner Mary Delgado was arrested for causing a ruckus at some establishment in Del Rio. Of course, the articles I reviewed fail to mention which bar, which I think is a little fishy. I need to know these things, as I'm clearly missing all of the action in this town. If I had to guess, I would say it was probably the bar in the lakeside "resort" purportedly owned by Byron Velvick, the famed pro bass fisherman (note: I use the term "resort" very loosely). Maybe they got into some kind of heated argument over the lack of spice in the queso.
But there you have it. I guess I have to go eat my words now.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Information That Would Have Been Nice To Know . . . Yesterday
Cat's officially out of the bag. I've got a bun in the oven. I'm a first timer, so it's super exciting for me (even more so for my husband who got all choked up when he saw the swag I got at an "OB Orientation" class at the Air Force Base - I thought that dads couldn't care less about burp cloths and onesies - evidently, I was wrong). So, as a first timer, I immediately went out and bought the latest "What to Expect When You're Expecting" (which, thankfully, no longer features the picture of that matronly lady in a rocking chair on the cover), and a few very generous friends sent me some other helpful books. So rock on - I was equipped with all of the information needed to navigate my nine month journey. Right? Wrong.
Now, for those of you mothers out there, you remember the food aversions and cravings. Fortunately for me, I didn't have any true morning sickness, but the very thought of certain foods made me want to ralph (case in point: broccoli - still can't do it). Naturally, this led me to crave some very tame foods, a sharp contrast to my eclectic tastes in food. And yet, I couldn't just eat bread every day. The baby needed some protein. So guess what I turned to? Cold cuts.
But oh wait - - After dining on tasty turkey and club sandwiches for a good three weeks (but not every day), a friend tells me that she was told NOT to eat cold cuts. Did I see this in any of the pregnancy books I read? Nope. But all it took was one google search, and I confirmed my fear. Deli meats are off limits unless you first heat them to steaming in a microwave (and yeah - no thanks). So deli meats are out. That might have been nice to know . . .
So I was sitting in the waiting room this afternoon for my latest doctor visit, and I decided to peruse one of the mom-to-be magazines. There was this section with letters from readers about the things they did before they knew they weren't supposed to. One woman wrote about her daily deli sandwiches, and I thought to myself, "Wow, that stinks - every day? At least my slip only happened a few times a month." And then I kept reading until I read, "I was craving Greek salads . . ." Oh no! I have been jonesing for Greek salads for three weeks now, and I have been making them at home, complete with feta cheese. Yup, feta is a no-no. As Adam Sandler would say, that is information that would have been nice to know YESTERDAY!
Thankfully, the baby seems to be all right with these minor slip-ups, as he gave me a little high five wave during my ultrasound today.
Now, for those of you mothers out there, you remember the food aversions and cravings. Fortunately for me, I didn't have any true morning sickness, but the very thought of certain foods made me want to ralph (case in point: broccoli - still can't do it). Naturally, this led me to crave some very tame foods, a sharp contrast to my eclectic tastes in food. And yet, I couldn't just eat bread every day. The baby needed some protein. So guess what I turned to? Cold cuts.
But oh wait - - After dining on tasty turkey and club sandwiches for a good three weeks (but not every day), a friend tells me that she was told NOT to eat cold cuts. Did I see this in any of the pregnancy books I read? Nope. But all it took was one google search, and I confirmed my fear. Deli meats are off limits unless you first heat them to steaming in a microwave (and yeah - no thanks). So deli meats are out. That might have been nice to know . . .
So I was sitting in the waiting room this afternoon for my latest doctor visit, and I decided to peruse one of the mom-to-be magazines. There was this section with letters from readers about the things they did before they knew they weren't supposed to. One woman wrote about her daily deli sandwiches, and I thought to myself, "Wow, that stinks - every day? At least my slip only happened a few times a month." And then I kept reading until I read, "I was craving Greek salads . . ." Oh no! I have been jonesing for Greek salads for three weeks now, and I have been making them at home, complete with feta cheese. Yup, feta is a no-no. As Adam Sandler would say, that is information that would have been nice to know YESTERDAY!
Thankfully, the baby seems to be all right with these minor slip-ups, as he gave me a little high five wave during my ultrasound today.
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