"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: mmbekah@yahoo.com

 
It's good to know that our country is in such capable hands. I implore you to scroll down and observe the hilarity of our commander in chief attempting to master the art of riding a Segway. Incidentally, shouldn't it be a "Segue"?

Update: Luckily, the President's mishap wasn't due to any faulty manufacturing; he simply forgot to turn it on.

posted by Bekah at 4:21 PM :: |

 
Well Isn't That Special?

Last night I had dinner with my grandparents. Naturally, the conversation took the following turn:

Bubby: So, Rebekah, you’re working here, and then you’re going to Amsterdam later this summer?

Me: Yes, and to Luxembourg, and hopefully I’ll get to visit my friend Devon in Scotland too.

Bubby: Ah, now is this Devon a “special friend”?

Me: No, she's a girl Devon. She's a friend. And she's special. But no, I don't have any "special friends" right now.

Bubby: Oh.

Me: Oy.

posted by Bekah at 10:16 AM :: |

 
A Moment of Reflection on the Popularity of the Teacup Cottage Illuminated Musical Waterglobe

Whenever I write something like my entry below about Thomas Kinkade, I always feel a little pang of guilt. I feel guilty because Thomas Kinkade is the best selling painter in America. This means that his prints are probably actually inspirational to lots of people, and might have even saved someone’s life. Allow me to illustrate.

A few weeks ago, I was watching The Today Show. It featured a young girl speaking with Matt Lauer about her undying love for Mariah Carey. She was in tears, explaining all of the joy that Mariah Carey’s songs had brought her, and how those songs had given her the strength to cope with endless family troubles. She could actually listen to “Dream Lover” and be truly moved.

Remembering the look on that girl's tear-stained face, I began to wonder: who am I to denigrate Mariah and K-dog (my new, affectionate moniker for Kinkade)? Does the girl on The Today Show not feel real emotions? Is she not an authentic human being? Are people who order the “Streams of Living Water Lit Sculpture” really just lost souls in search of simple pleasures, not at all deserving of my scorn? In other words, am I snobby or mean-spirited for reviling the Christ Gardens or the inspirational messages that accompany them?

Ultimately, I have to say that the answer to my last question must be a resounding “No.” Regardless of the true emotions that Mariah and K-dog may evoke in their fans, it is obvious to me that such emotions are actually controlled by Satan, who will not cease in his quest to permeate the earth with clichéd music and commercialized, hotel wall-adorning, putrid attempts at art. If there is evil in this word, it is Thomas Kinkade. He, following the more tentative footsteps of Norman Rockwell, has forever tainted the art world with his foul and kitschy triteness. Sure, he claims to be a religious man. But do I have to count the number of times an evil person has claimed to have God on his side? Mariah Carey and Michael Bolton are Kinkade's musical cohorts. No one can escape their wrath.

But we can make fun of them.

posted by Bekah at 1:54 PM :: |

 
Bad Coffee, Bad Feelings

My views about Starbucks have been vacillating quite a bit lately. Some days I'm sure I can't take it anymore, some days I think it's not so bad. But some serious shit just went down, and I think the harm might be irreparable. The Starbucks workers and I just had words. I promise, they started it. See, the last time I got coffee, they made it with way too much milk. So much milk that my coffee was basically white. This didn't do it for me. I am one of the few people left in this world for whom coffee is a necessary source of caffeine, not some sort of fun "hmm, what flavor will I choose today?" hobby. I just want my coffee, and I want actual coffee to be the main ingredient (although sometimes flavors are ok, depending on the occasion). Anyway, today I ordered coffee with skim milk, but added at the end of my order "and with a little less milk than you usually put in, please." I didn't think this was really a big deal, and it certainly wasn't the equivalent of pulling a Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally. Boy was I wrong. The words had barely left my lips when the girl said curtly, "um, what do you mean?" I tried to explain myself, but it wasn't getting through. She asked, "Do you mean you want less coffee?" I explained that no, "less milk" means, oddly enough, less milk (I wasn't rude though, just firm in my insistence on less milk). By this time, another worker had come over. I think there is some sort of Starbucks mind control technique whereby employees must intervene if a customer says anything other than the words printed on the board behind the counter. So this new employee said, "Do you want us not to fill up the cup?" "No, I just want the coffee to milk ratio to involve more coffee." "You'll have to buy another shot then." "Fine." So I ended up paying more for a cup of coffee, simply because I wanted coffee and not milk. That's how those evil bastards get you.

posted by Bekah at 3:42 PM :: |

 
Why I Would Rather Become Thomas Kinkade's Personal Artistic Advisor Than Work in Retail

I was in The Body Shop last night (the one for bodies, not cars) browsing through the grossly overpriced, yet wondrous lip gloss. A woman shopping in my vicinity mumbled something inaudibly, and one of the dutiful salesladies asked "if she could help with anything." The woman repeated herself, happy to share her profound revelation with the other patrons: "It's just like a Bath and Bodyworks store in here." The saleslady just kind of flinched and went back to arranging the pumice stones. I vowed never to complain about law school again.

Update: In case you aren't familiar with the horror that is Thomas Kinkade, please use the link above to observe his heartwarming (or gutwrenching?) website, wherein he displays his "work." Please note that Kinkade, who dubs himself the "Painter of Light" (funny, I thought Carravagio and Rembrandt were doing just fine there) also employs an army of "master highlighters" who basically work in warehouses sprucing up thousands of prints of Kinkade's Christ Gardens with the famous "Kinkade light." Now that's art. He also provides calendars with inspirational messages from the scripture, himself, and his wife Nanette (real name). I'm sorry to desecrate my site in this manner, but I have to make you understand my pain:

This work, entitled "Garden of Prayer" has the following caption, straight from the Kade-Man himself (or maybe a "master highlighter"): Perhaps in a garden we are closer to our creator. We certainly are closer to His creation. My prayer is that this painted garden will be a meeting place for many that would speak to their God in the silence of morning. As my friend Jessica would say, "I think I just threw up a little in my mouth."

My Thomas Kinkade Wish List:
1. Lilac Bouqet Silk Scarf.
2. "Home is Where the Heart Is" Collector's Print.
3. "Bridge of Faith" Inspirational Print.
4. The Streams of Living Water Lit Sculpture.
5. Christmas Cottages Notecards With Scripture. Pretty please!

posted by Bekah at 1:23 PM :: |

 
Quotable Quotes (from recent conversations):

1. I have a friend who is working for a firm this summer. All of the new interns went out to lunch at a Japanese restaurant, and one of the partners proceeded to force them to a) attempt to catch shrimp in their mouths, and b) compose impromptu limericks. It seems that by "lunch," this firm actually means "three ring circus." Of the experience, my friend said, "You haven't really learned true humility until you've had shrimp thrown at your face." I think she might be right, although I can't say I've tested the theory.

2. I recently had a conversation with my sister about some kid she knows. I tried to be flighty and superficial, and she just wasn't having it:
Hannah: ...and he's kind of a jerk...
Me: Yes, yes, but is he cute?
Hannah: Yes, but he has some problematic political views.
Me: Oh. (Decided not to ask if he had curly hair).

3. A while ago, I had a conversation with my dad about my mentioning his name in something I wrote on this site:
Dad: Are your friends jealous that I got a shout out?
Me: Yeah...
Dad: Tough shiznet.
Me: (!?!) Whoa.

4. During finals, I had a great conversation with my 14-year-old cousin. I'd been studying all day, and I was having dinner at his house. With a crazed look in my eyes, I said something like, "I can't even tell you how much I've studied! Do you want to hear how much I've studied? Do you? Do you?" And he said, "No, tell me what you learned. Because if you didn't learn anything, then it's pointless." After I got over the shock of something so wise coming out of such a young person, I proceeded to fill him in on joint tenancies with rights of survivorship. I'm pretty sure he wished to God he hadn't piped up.

5. A few nights ago, some of my friends and I were hanging out at one of our apartments watching Elimidate and talking about general pop culture-type things. Somehow I got on a rant about how I hate it when big, fat, gross men get on talk shows and complain that their wives are fat, and I was going on and on about it, until someone asked, "Bekah, what percentage of your life have you spent being angry about something?" That made me feel bad. I'm not an angry person, I'm just hyper-sensitive to stupidity. But maybe I should calm down a little.

posted by Bekah at 10:06 AM :: |

 
Now That's Entertainment

Actual conversation heard during my viewing of The Italian Job (I mean really, why would people stop talking to each other? It's only a movie):

Bitter old lady (loudly, with a good deal of attitude, to a group of "young people" behind her): Could you please be still with your feet.

Young people (muffled, slightly obnoxious): Heheheh.

Bitter old lady (again, loudly): Oh that's right. Keep laughing, show everyone how ignorant you are.

Young people (continue to laugh, showing everyone how ignorant they are).

Disgruntled moviegoer in the back: Shut up!

Bitter old lady: No, you shut up.

Entire theater (to themselves): Is this really happening? This might be more entertaining than the movie! Maybe I should throw a Milk Dud and start a brawl!*

*The last thought was actually mine, but I didn't have any Duds on hand. It's a good thing The Italian Job is just a fun action movie. If this conversation had occurred while I was viewing a film, I would not have been even slightly amused.

posted by Bekah at 11:31 AM :: |