"In vacant or in pensive mood..." I am: Bekah; 24; Law Student / Favorite Things: Carbs (so there!), Johnny Damon, Smiling at babies, Grilled cheese, Comfortable silence / Favorite Supreme Court Justice: Brennan / Favorite Wilson: Owen by an inch / Today's Special: Song: Elliott Smith, "Bled White"; Quote: "You know, there's like a butt-load of gangs at this school. This one gang kept wanting me to join because I'm pretty good with a bowstaff." Please love me: email@example.com
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Saturday, October 30, 2004
Halloween: Can't Stop the Music
So, some of my girlfriends and I are going to be the Village People for Halloween. We've got the construction worker, the cowboy, the person of Native American descent, the policeman, the biker, and me, the army guy. Of course, if you know anything about Halloween customs, you realize that we are obviously going to be feminized variations on the original Village People characters. As we all know, there's no better opportunity to wear knee-high boots than Halloween. I'm excited to see all of the other costumes, and I'm really excited to wear mine. It includes: Black boots, khaki skirt, camo shirt, artillery helmet, and a bullet belt. I don't have a weapon, but I'm hoping to scrounge up a water gun. Or maybe I'll just get a hand grenade in the Quarter (of the drinkable variety). Oh, I kid, I kid.
By the way, I hope people know that I'm dressing up as a specific character and not meaning to offend people who are actually serving in the army and don't wear boots with three inch heels regularly. Although I suppose Halloween is a time when all bets are off in terms of being offensive. I've known someone to be a placenta for god's sake.
Note: If you are panicky and confused because you thought that the Village People included a sailor, please see the following excerpt of an email I recently composed:
I know that some of you were very concerned about whether or not there was in fact a sailor in the original Village People. I did some research on the matter and discovered that the army character, one Alexander Briley, was initially in charge of most of the musical arrangements for the People. Later, the group decided that he needed a costume too. So when the group performed "In the Navy" he was a sailor, but he was an army man the rest of the time. And so, my friends, the mystery of the army/navy guy in the Village People is finally solved. Considering that I have a $17 artillery helmet and lots of bullets, I will be sticking with Alexander's army persona for the evening.
Monday, October 25, 2004
I've been informed that the post previously occupying this space was offensive to several people of my acquaintance, so I've decided to let it go. No need for comments at all--I'd actually rather that this didn't spark a discussion. Instead, I only hope that in the future people will not interpret my posts as mean-spirited unless they are directed at: the Yankees (or individual players associated with that ball club), Donald Rumsfeld, Carrot Top, that scary blond lady on Court TV with the crazy eyes, or Ashlee Simpson (she's defenseless, I know, but she's rich now so I can say she sucks with impunity). For future reference, I'm hoping that the tone of my posts will hereinafter be seen as "slightly abrasive with a hint of whimsy." Sincere apologies to anyone offended. I'll try to stick to lampooning myself and the aforementioned open targets from now on.
Thursday, October 21, 2004
Are you there God? It's me, Bekah.
God, remember when I told you that I would make the commitment to run through the summer heat because I knew that you would reward me with glorious weather in October? Remember when I justified long, sticky August runs with the thought that soon the air would be clear and crisp and it would all be worth it? I know you remember this, God. So why, on October 21, do you insist on plaguing me with 98% humidity and a projected heat index of 100 degrees?
Is it because I didn't go to services on Yom Kippur? I'm sorry! I atone! I atone! Is it because I had impure thoughts about Johnny Damon? I'm sorry! I can't help that he is wonderful and glorious and largely responsible for the victory in game 7. Is it because I made fun of Curt Schilling when he said the reason he pitched so well in game 6 was that he "became a Christian 7 years ago"? I'm sorry, God, but that was so lame!
Anyway, God, I know you're listening. I know you are teaching New Orleans a valuable lesson by giving it a taste of what it's like to be in the very pit of hell. But let me just assure you: the point is taken. We get it. We know we are all evil, drunken sinners. Now can it please be fall?
Sunday, October 17, 2004
There are two stuffed monkeys in our apartment. The larger one, given to me by my sister, is named Monkey. Apt, don't you think? The other, a smaller monkey wearing a Michigan shirt, is named D'Brickashaw Ferguson. It pains me to admit that I didn't come up with the name D'Brickashaw on my own. The little monkey is actually named after the left tackle for Virginia. Why? Because D'Brickashaw Ferguson is the absolute coolest name in the entire world. (By the by, if you disagree with that assessment I don't recommend telling the original D'Brickashaw--he's 6'5'', 295 lbs. And he's had a lifetime of namecalling on the playground to get worked up about).
My dear friend Costa recently hurt her back very badly and had to stay in the hospital for several days. When she emerged, she was still in a lot of pain. Adding insult to injury, her doctor made it clear that she would not be allowed to lift a backpack for quite some time. So what did darling Costa have to do? She had to buy a rolly bag. I don't know anyone in the world who made more fun of rolly bags than Costa, and it was a sad day when she first rolled into school. I named her bag Eunice. It's the only name that would do. Eunice is also a name that my college friends and I used to refer to our uteruses (uteri?) during certain uncomfortable times of the month. As I've illustrated, the name Eunice is applicable to a variety of circumstances, all of which are annoying and/or uncomfortable.
My car's name is Franny, sometimes Fran. J's car's name is Oscar. Elliot's car's name is Oliver. J's old car's name is Ferdinand (he was a metrosexual). My old car's name was Elliott. My computer's name is Legolas. I named all of these things. I like to name things. Now I want to know all of your car/stuffed animal/assorted inanimate object names. Tell them to me. They better be good.
Saturday, October 16, 2004
There is some sort of baby invasion happening in this coffeehouse right now, and I'm feeling slightly overwhelmed. There's a little indie/hardcore kid with black low-top Chucks holding an adorable baby girl in a pink bonnet. Next to me is a gay couple with their baby, who's just babbling away like a mountain stream. Also, a small angelic girl is running around the place smiling at everyone and saying hello. In an environment like this, my biological clock stops ticking and instead starts pounding in my brain like a sledgehammer.
I'm usually pretty hesitant to concede to things like a maternal instinct (for obvious social and political reasons) but it is hard to deny the feeling I get in my stomach when I see babies now. Also, I saw that cheesy show on ABC where they build new houses for families who are dealing with some sort of tragic circumstance, and at the part where the mom was crying and talking about how her daughter who's allergic to the sun can now live and swim on their property safely I started crying because she loved her daughter so much. As I wiped away the tears, J was looking at me with an expression that can only be described as horror mixed with panic and disgust. He was already disturbed enough by the fact that I was watching this show, but to cry? To cry? It was too much. I don't know. For some reason I am as emotionally manipulatable as a child.
Things to Do Soon:
1. See Team America: World Police.
2. Start/finish outlines.
3. Send in absentee ballot.
4. Decide whether buying a "Fuck Bush" button would be (1) really cool, (2) Too edgy and more than slightly offensive, or (3) Too 70's. Incidentally, I've been wearing several political buttons on my jean jacket lately, and I think I look like my mom must have looked in the 70's. Except my buttons say things like "Kerry/Edwards: Vote Sexy" (over pink silhouettes) and "Mad Cowboy Disease" (over W.'s fat face).
5. Finish Jane Eyre. (I've been "almost done" for about 5 months...)
Monday, October 11, 2004
J and I went to Ann Arbor for homecoming last weekend (his, not mine) and enjoyed some glorious weather and some seriously pants-pooping football (in a good way). We visited with J's friends and were reminded that somewhere in the world it is below 80 degrees in mid-October. I got to go for fantastic, hilly runs in lovely 55 degree weather with the sun shining the whole time. I was spoiled. The Homecoming game was great too--such a nailbiter. We went to a tailgate before the game where there was more deep fried "fill in the the blank" than I've ever seen. Mushrooms, french fries, pirogis, tortilla chips, and even a duck all went into the frier. No Twinkies though. It was pretty gross, but really cool at the same time. It's good to see people so dedicated to a cause--so completely invested in what they're doing. Even if it does involve frying everything but their boots.
During the game I was mostly fine with the student section, but my experience was slightly tarnished by one obnoxious Neanderthal behind me. Toward the end, I turned around to check out the scoreboard and this kid randomly complemented my Kerry-Edwards sticker. I smiled and said thanks, thinking I'd found a kindred spirit (Ann Arbor is supposed to be liberal, right?), but instead he gave me a thumbs up/thumbs down combo while sticking out his tongue (Adam Sandler style), and proceeded to tell me that I might as well cheer for Minnesota if I'm going to wear a dumbass sticker like that. I just kind of stood there, stupefied, much like his fearless leader tends to do whenever he's forced to formulate a sentence without one of his oft-rehearsed catch phrases. What is wrong with people? Do we seriously need to resort to sticking our tongues out at each other? Blaaah, you forgot Poland! Blaaah! Neener. Jeez.
Anyway, it was a fun weekend, and I'm not excited to be back, and I am not excited that the semester is half over. Oh, and I got another rejection letter, but with a fun twist: this firm rejected my application for a job I didn't even ask for! They regretted to tell me that there was no place in their summer internship program. Which is fine, except I asked them for full time employment upon my graduation. To my mind, this signifies a serious loophole. As J mused, "So you're sayin' there's a chance..."
Monday, October 04, 2004
This Weekend's Top 5
5. Hooray for the Underdogs: Wildcats win with brains and brawn! I love a good underdog story. And because I'm associated with a big Michigan fan, I know that when an underdog story involves upsetting the dreaded Ohio State buckeyes, victory is even sweeter. Congratulations to Northwestern, beating OSU for the first time since 1971 in one of the most exciting games I've seen this year.
4. Desperate Housewives: Sunday Night Lives Post X Files! I was intrigued by the previews, and was even more impressed with the premiere. Mystery! Scandal! Voyeurism! That lady from Sports Night! And some of the dialogue was pretty intelligent too. I'll definitely tune in next week.
3. Race for the Cure: Running is great, but what's up with Yoplait liquid yogurt in a bottle? Eew. The Race for the Cure is such a good event. This was the second time I've run it. Unfortunately, it was the first time I ran it in this godforsaken, festering city. The heat index was around 93 and the first mile and a half was in direct sunlight. Also, the road was absolutely packed. It turned out fine, but I was frustrated because as soon as I crossed the finish line I knew I could have gone faster. 5ks are hard for me because I'm used to running long and relatively slow, so I can't convince my body to speed up even when I know I don't have that far to go. It's like I'm programmed to save up energy, even when I'm not going to need it. Do any runners have some suggestions on forcing yourself to speed up when you need to?
2. The Loch Ness Monster and Polite Rejection Letters: One of them actually does exist! Friday I got the nicest rejection letter in the world. Seriously. The guy cordially and politely said that they'd had a very successful summer and were full for right now, but that they'd keep my info on file and would let me know if their needs change. He also said he wished he could give me better news because my credentials are very impressive and he would otherwise be very interested. (Emphasis added to illustrate the stark contrast with the evil rejection letter described below). So I did something crazy and wrote a thank-you note for the rejection letter. I don't care if that was the firm's stock letter. The point is that it didn't make me want to jump out of a window, and for this I am grateful.
1. Shaun of the Dead: Bloody Brilliant! This movie was even better than I expected. I loved Shaun and his dopey roommate and his girlfriend. There were some of the funniest moments and facial expressions in that movie. Not to mention the fact that, despite what Ebert and Roeper had to say on the matter, I thought the social commentary was pretty dead on. I mean, drunk people and cashiers often do seem like zombies. Oh, and when the zombies ate that guy's entrails while he was still alive and screaming, it was effing hilarious! Good stuff.