Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Looking for Love?

There is one thing that freaks me out almost as much as my certainty that there is a killer standing behind my shower curtain RIGHT NOW and that a monkey might one day rip off my face: online dating sites.  Now, I want to be clear that I am not knocking these things.  Follow your bliss, y’all.  But I can honestly say that I have a hard enough time tolerating men that I actually know and like.  I don’t need strangers making things worse.  Nonetheless, I am 100% confident that, if online dating questionnaires were graded, I could submit one that earned an A+.  Here are some sample dating site questions and my completely truthful answers.  Like I said: A+.

Are you physically fit? Listen, the expanse of my ribcage is second only to former Ohio State linebacker Tom Cousineau. It is huge!  I can hardly fit in doors!  That’s a lot of lung capacity in there. 

Do you have any serious medical condition? I break my toes a lot.  Those little suckers snap like twigs.  Also: if sweating were an Olympic sport, I would have several gold medals.  Several. 

Are you in a serious relationship at the moment?  Obviously, if I’m answering this questionnaire, it’s not that serious. 

Are you willing to submit a full size photo of yourself to place alongside your details on this site?  Oh, hell no. 

What are your hobbies?  Making fun of other peoples’ hobbies, acquiring a stash of clickie pens, washing my hands, worrying about where I’m going to park.

What is your idea of a good date?  I’ve always had a fondness for April 7th, 1965.

What are your best qualities? I somewhat resemble Rutger Hauer.  Like everyone, I think Dave Grohl seems like a totally normal guy.  I could totally club a baby harp seal to death with only a strappy sandal to survive if I were stranded in Greenland.  I always have chap stick, and babies and animals love me. Except baby harp seals.  They are justifiably terrified of me.

What are your worst qualities? I sometimes accidentally stare at people like I am thinking about murdering them in their sleep.  But really, I’m just thinking about cheese.

In a few words can you describe the person that you are interested in meeting on this dating site?  Frequently absent, good dental hygiene, understands that nobody is listening to his soliloquy on how the quality of sound on vinyl records far surpasses digital, doesn’t ask nosy questions about how I got that scar.

What else is important for us to know about you? I’m a nice girl, but don’t test me.   Also: I like the Muppets. 

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Rodney

Friends, while I try to spend most of my time on this blog exaggerating things that irritate me and making lists of everything else, I have to pause for a moment to pay respects to the short, tragic life of Rodney King. 

For me, growing up in the 1970s, King’s videotaped beating in March in 1991 was the first incident where I really saw how race worked in the United States.  King, a black man, drunk off his rocker and driving at speeds in excess of 100 miles an hour was stopped by the police, and exited the car in a highly nonconforming manner.  Based on his behavior, police used tasers on King, and when he still did not submit, they commenced to beat the living shit out of him, as seen on George Holliday’s videotape. 

America was divided, much like it is divided today with the Trayvon Martin killing.  King was a bad dude.  The police were, arguably, threatened and not taking any chances. On the other hand, the force used against him was overwhelming, and reactions seemed to contrast white America’s fear of the black man and desire for strong law and order with black America’s assertion that this sort of treatment occurred in every place, for every reason, and black people had little recourse.  Also, in 1991, the war on drugs was on in full force, and King, reportedly high (although never substantiated) on PCP, looked like the poster child for Scary Drug Users in Action.

As most of us recall, in an ensuing trial, the police offers who committed the beating were acquitted, there was an unimaginable race riot, and in the end, OJ was acquitted for murder.  Possibly even more memorable, was Rodney King, full of emotion, recovered from his beating, but still fragile, pleading with the city - no, the country - “Can’t we all just get along?” It was unscripted, and undeniably heartfelt.   

Years later, King, an alcoholic whose body was turning against him, entered rehab in the most public way possible – on Celebrity Rehab 2 with Dr. Drew.  Now, I know that there are people who find Dr. Drew a shameless publicity whore who is doing nothing but making tabloid TV out of horrible problems that face real people, but I happen to think oppositely.  I am a huge fan of Celebrity Rehab, because it shows that drug and alcohol abuse isn’t just for Crappy Poor People who Have No Self Control.  Addiction can happen to anyone, everyone has their secret pain, and recovery is not a one-day process.  Rodney King on this show was absolutely mesmerizing.  He was a really lovely, sincere person, who genuinely struggled with finding the person under his demons.  He was still dealing with the trauma of his beating, and becoming the face – both good and bad – of the events that happened afterwards.  

As of this writing, I don’t know what killed him.  I am guessing it wasn’t squirrels that pushed him in his pool.  But regardless of the circumstances of his death, Rodney King’s death has left a very sad, empty place in my heart.  This was a guy who had an ugly past, who paid for it publicly and dearly, and who shouldered everything that occurred in his life with acceptance.  He never denied that he had troubles of his own.  He forgave the people who harmed him.  He acknowledged that life is not black and white – that things that happen have shades that can change instantaneously.  He was a supremely human person, and just listening to him humbled me, with my ridiculous first-world problems, in an instant. 

That Rodney King was not able to conquer his struggles is devastating.  Because that means that many of us won’t overcome our struggles, and the optimist in me has a hard time facing that reality.  So instead, all I can do is think to myself that Rodney King is in a place right now, where he is standing in a beautiful garden.  He stands in the rays of the sun, and he’s been given peace, calm, hope, serenity, and all of the shining love and acceptance that exists.  He is at peace, and his family is at peace.  He is whole. 

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

I Didn't Ask You About Your Minivan

I have a friend, and I would mention her by name, but it would probably make her get nervous and start sweating profusely, so I will just call her Trisha.  Trisha said this to the Facebook world the other day: “We are starting the search for an SUV.  Any suggestions?” 

In droves, her dumbass friends started talking about minivans. 

This is like saying, “Dear world, I am looking for a nice dog.  Any recommendations?” and having everyone respond telling you about their favorite cats. 

Why do people do this?  I have a couple of theories:

1)      People just want to hear their own voices.  It doesn’t matter if they are able to meaningfully contribute or not, they just need for you to understand that they are interested in talking, therefore, you’d best be interested in listening.  I think that this is one of those generational things where these people were told by their mommies that everything they did was special, so now they think that every statement that comes out of their mouth is magic fairy powder. 

2)      People have an unrelenting need to prove themselves right.  You are thinking of getting an SUV?  Well, I have a minivan, and therefore, that is the correct choice.  In order to make sure that I feel okay about the choice that I made, I need to convince you to make the same choice. 

3)      People resent that you might have the ability to do something different from them.  It is not fair that you get a cool, slammin’ SUV, when I am stuck with a piece of shit Windstar with a door that comes off of its track every other month.  Because of that, I need you to have the same crap that I have, so that my life doesn’t feel like it’s falling into a chasm of bad choices and sub-quality material goods.   If you have something better than me, that will mean that your life is better than mine, and I don’t know if we can be friends if your life is better than mine. 

I realize that I’m a little sensitive about this, but seriously, when someone asks you for a recommendation about something, they are not asking you for your stupid-ass treatise on Why the World Exists as It Does.  They are asking for a one sentence, on-topic opinion, and if you don’t have anything to say that is relevant, just shut the fuck up. 
 
OK, back to studying. 

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Olympic Fever


Four years ago, when I first started law school, one of our professors asked us to fill out a questionnaire on the first day of class. I had no idea what this woman was about, or why she wanted the information, so my natural inclination to answer every question, “None of your damn business,” was very strong. I held out until the last question, where she asked, “What else is important for me to know about you?” I responded, “I am currently suffering from Olympic Fever. It’s pretty severe.”

Now, while part of that answer was just my way of telling her to mind her own bizzie, part of the answer was absolutely true. I DO suffer from Olympic Fever, and it IS pretty severe.

How do I love the Olympics? Let me count the ways:

1. Parade of Nations – I am fascinated by this stuff. While I’m especially intrigued by the made-up-sounding countries that have two athletes who look like they’re kept in a prison camp for the rest of the year and whose Olympic committee (all 30 of them) looks like they’d be more comfortable strong-arming innocent villagers out of the backs of Jeeps, I also like the Aussies. They always look really happy to be there.

2. Commentary – Let’s be clear here: I will watch ANY event of the Olympics. Skeet shooting? I am on it. Dressage? Oh, hell yes. And what I love the most, is that the commentators for these events make it seem like this is a regular gig for them. Their level of expertise is amazing. I am on the edge of my seat when they whisper, “What Hjerska is about to attempt is almost unheard of. Whacking the bobbercranzt at this altitude is a risky maneuver, but as you can see by the angle of her gerrenbahn, she’s already calculated the risk of overenture.” And then, when Hjerska makes the shot, I am losing my mind, jumping around and slapping people, shouting, “HOLY SHIT! Did you SEE that gerrenbahn?!?!” It is the best thing ever.

3. The bodies – Olympic athletes, by and large, have six packs as a matter of course. That is my kind of world.

4. The rivalries – Whether it is USA versus USSR, Phelps versus Thorpe, Kerrigan versus Harding, or Usain Bolt versus the rest of the world, I love, love, LOVE competition. In my world, everyone has a picture of their rival taped to their ceiling, their mirror, the door of their locker, and burned on the inside of their eyeballs. There is no tomorrow; this is the contest where they must win.

5. The thrill of victory, and the agony of defeat – Along with the rivalries, I love the drama of the Olympics in general. Professional weightlifters taking off their shoes after their final lift, Kerri Strug being carried off of the mat by Bela Karolyi, Lolo Jones sitting, in stunned disbelief on the track after tripping over a hurdle. So much of the Olympics is the impossible dream come true, but everyone can see their own struggles and disappointments in the athletes as well.

6. The heroes – I love Michael Phelps for more than his piranha-toothed underbite and scarily chiseled body. I love his will to dominate. Phelps, Apollo Ono, Usain Bolt, Michelle Kwan, Carl Lewis…every one of them a beautiful machine, made to do exactly what they are doing. The physical and athletic gifts are astounding, and the fighting spirit that each one of them has is inspiring. Especially on days when I can scarcely drag my fat ass off the couch to jog around the block.

7. Bud Greenspan – Look him up on Wikipedia. While the Olympics won’t be the same without him, his catalogue of past games will glue us to our couches on rainy Saturdays, reliving the memories, for years to come.

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