Recessionary Thoughts

So... I know the economy is in the shitter right now and that any day now my job could get cut, forcing me out onto the street with no hope of finding employment anywhere. I know that. Really, I do. Honestly, the thought alone stresses me out so much that my back is in knots.

...so many knots in fact, that I needed to get them taken care of. For an hour. By a professional. At a spa. And then I had to go shopping at Nordstroms.

Seriously, pray to God for me tonight that I don't get laid off before I can staunch my love of pampering and $155 skinny jeans*.

*Don't judge, those jeans make my non-ass look fabulous.

Poetry Friday

I am a crap blogger. this is because I never really have anything to say about anything.

So today I thought, what if I wrap my blog with parameters? Bring back Music Mondays and add on Poetry Friday? Maybe the guidelines will encourage me to post.... we'll see how it goes. Right now, onwards to the inaugural Poetry Friday entry.

The first poem is from "Against Love Poetry" a collection by my favorite poet, Eavan Boland - if you don't know who she is, you should. She sees love from a different angle than most poets I've been exposed to.... honestly, I am in awe of her talent. Added Bonus: She's Irish and wrote back to me right away when I emailed her a bunch of questions for a research paper a few years ago.

What famous poet do you know of that would be that awesome? None. That's how many.


Quarantine

In the worst hour of the worst season
of the worst year of a whole people
a man set out from the workhouse with his wife.
He was walking-they were both walking-north.

She was sick with famine fever and could not keep up.
He lifted her and put her on his back.
He walked like that west and north.
Until at nightfall under freezing stars they arrived.

In the morning they were both found dead.
Of cold. Of hunger. Of the toxins of a whole history.
But her feet were held against his breastbone.
The last heat of his flesh was his last gift to her.

Let no love poem ever come to this threshold.
There is no place here for the inexact
praise of the easy graces and sensuality of the body.
There is only time for this merciless inventory:

Their death together in the winter of 1847.
Also what they suffered. How they lived.
And what there is between a man and a woman.
And in which darkness it can best be proved.

Boland, Eavan, 2001. Against Love Poetry. New York, NY: Norton & Company Inc.

A business owner from Boston just contacted me on Yelp. Seems that, even though my review was done over two years ago he wants to make up for my negative experience by either refunding me (what's up free $250) or offering me a free service next time I'm in Boston.

Who knew my opinion actually mattered to business owners? Because seriously, not this girl.

American Apparel is trying to sell hyper-color t-shirts. Sad, but the people who shop there will most likely deem this "ironic" (it's not) and will purchase one in every color. Oh, the humanity.

Thinking

That the quality of classes, facilities, and professors at BU far exceeds that of NYU.

This post is to give Adina hope that I'm not just another pretty face.

Yes, Barack Obama won, was inagurated, and is now the 44th president of the United States. All the naysayers and crazy mofos in the world who wanted that other guy in office (remember him? White hair? Sorta short? Taking the same crazy pills from George Bush that Katie Holmes takes from Tom Cruise?) can eat a bag of dicks.

This isn't what that post is about. This post is about Michelle Obama, First Lady o'style who refuses to let her height beat her down. She gives me hope that someday I too can be a graceful swan, gliding through a room instead of a drunken giraffe falling off of my heels every 3 minutes.

I'm not alone here. Brett Ashley McKenzie posted a blog on the Huffington Post earlier today lamenting the tall girl curse and applauding Michelle Obama for defying it. An excerpt:

"Let me let you in on a little secret: we tall women, even the .00001% of us that turn out to be models (for no matter our weight or looks, tall women constantly hear "You should be a model!") go through gangly, lanky, clumsy, klutzy adolescences... and that's before we attempt to walk in heels. Usually, our feet are proportionately gigantic, which makes you feel even less feminine. Even in a Manolo, if you've got a size 12 foot, no stiletto offers the right balance. So you either live in kitten heels, envying the short women who saunter by in their size 4 outfits and 4" heels, or you shove your feet into gigantic, high-heeled shoes and grit your teeth in agony.

Being a tall women in college certainly has its perks. For instance, you can give your shorter girlfriend an early warning if the guy attempting to pick her up in a bar or biology class has a bald spot. And everyone mistakes you for a member of the volleyball or women's basketball team. When you graduate, however, you are presented with your two greatest challenges: surviving a mostly-male workplace, where your shorter male colleagues will tease you relentlessly in order to feel better about themselves, and finding a man with whom you can see eye to eye to eventually marry and have gigantic children with." (keep reading)

Damn girl, but its so true. Especially the part about it being really hard for tall women to dance. It's true. It really is hard.

So I'm not usually conscious in time to watch the morning news. This morning I was and I have to say, I don't like what I saw --

The hosts of the show sitting around the desk surrounded by buckets of KFC newest type of fried chicken? They were even taking bites - very small bites - and touting its deliciousness and summer flavors.

Are you kidding me? New anchors promoting KFC? What happened to journalistic integrity?

WTF

In the News

My Beautiful Mommy" is aimed at kids ages four to seven and features a plastic surgeon named Dr. Michael (a musclebound superhero type) and a girl whose mother gets a tummy tuck, a nose job and breast implants. Before her surgery the mom explains that she is getting a smaller tummy: "You see, as I got older, my body stretched and I couldn't fit into my clothes anymore. Dr. Michael is going to help fix that and make me feel better." Mom comes home looking like a slightly bruised Barbie doll with demure bandages on her nose and around her waist.

The text doesn't mention the breast augmentation, but the illustrations intentionally show Mom's breasts to be fuller and higher. "I tried to skirt that issue in the text itself," says Salzhauer. "The tummy lends itself to an easy explanation to the children: extra skin and can't fit into your clothes. The breasts might be a stretch for a six-year-old."

The book doesn't explain exactly why the mother is redoing her nose post-pregnancy. Nonetheless, Mom reassures her little girl that the new nose won't just look "different, my dear—prettier!"

Seriously?

Dear T.S. Eliot,

You were right. April is the cruelest month.

-Lindsay