So lately my life consists pretty much of applying for jobs, pestering said jobs, the buying, making, or eating of food, going to the library, reading books, and watching movies. Our library has a fabulous movie selection so I have been taking full advantage of that. Here are some things that I have learned in my movie-watching.
1) Old movies are awesome. Sure there is the occasional dud, the odd movie that just doesn't quite do it for you, but overall these movies are fabulous. I already was half-way in love with Paul Newman. Now I am developing a ridiculous respect for Humphrey Bogart, James Dean, Lauren Bacall, Ingrid Bergman, even Clark Gable...the list continues. Audrey Hepburn. I have such a strong affection for her I just don't know what to call it. I have an insanse desire to be her friend and just be able to hang out with the woman. Yes, I know I can't. That is besides the point.
2) Not every foreign film is some work of genius. I used to try to pretend I enjoyed every foreign film I watched just so I could feel cultured and worldly. I don't pretend any more. Some I like but some are just terrible. Really awful and strange and not cohesive or coherent and even...though I hate using this word...weird. I'm sorry. Some are just plain weird. The kind where they end and all I can think is "I could have been watching something else. I could have been watching How I Met Your Mother and at least have laughed or something."
3) Some actors can do no wrong. I mean, they've probably been in some awful movies, but even having seen those awful movies I can't think badly of them. They will in all likelihood never lose my insane fandom. Harrison Ford, for example. I love the man. I mean, love him. Kirsten and I used to turn on the original Star Wars movies and just skip around to the Han Solo scenes because we just wanted to watch him. I love him even though that whole fourth Indiana Jones with Aliens movie happened. I just love him. It can't be changed.
4) Some of my favorite movies are just the worst things ever created. I saw Red Dawn the other day and I don't know that I've ever laughed so hard. The acting, the script, the concept of the whole thing...it was so many shades of ridiculous I just didn't know which made me happiest. I highly recommend this film.
5) Sometimes it's okay to watch movies that have no intelligence value. The mindless action movies, stupid comedies, even the occasional sappy chick flick. These things exist for a reason. That reason is because sometimes we like to be able to sit back and be entertained without thinking anything at all of importance. I am pretty comfortable with that.
On that note, it's time for me to leave and watch a little Harrison. I found Patriot Games at the library.
9.12.2010
A letter to psychotic library-man
Don't even try to tell me I'm not educated. It will not end well for you. The only thing that kept me from erupting into an unholy fury at the library today was the fact that the man in question was not actually directing his insane "everyone-but-me-is-a-mere-plebian" speech at me, but at the poor information desk lady who was tragically left with no way of escape.
I was casually browsing the dvds at the public library today because I am too cheap to rent a movie when there is a perfectly good supply of free ones. The long dvd rack is right next to the information desk which is why I was in a perfect position to unashamedly eavesdrop when I heard psycho-man getting worked up into a solid rant.
The first sentence that drew me into the conversation was something to the effect of "you libraries are ruining society". Bold statement. He continued to explain that the library was leading to the downfall of civilization because instead of stocking only classic novels or books on nothing but facts, they insist on including modern "authors" (I use quotes because he also explained that there is no such thing as a modern author. All modern writers are ignorant boobs completely incapable of being as well-read as Sir Hooters-baseball-cap over here.). These modern books are what is destroying society. This is because, as we all know, if there is any alternative to someone of my generation reading a classic work of literature we will take it. That alternative could be some sort of slash fiction about vampire werewolf fairy hookers in victorian london and we would obviously still choose it over a classic. This man was convinced not only that my generation is completely incapable of freely choosing to read a "classic" book, but that should any library worker ever speak against the evil, tyrannical library administration they would be brutally cast out of library-world, never to return.
I would like to point out that I did not decide he was talking about my generation simply because it is fun to be offended sometimes. This man actually pointed directly at me when he talked about the "unread" generation. Granted, I was only facing him sideways, but still. Come on. Then he continued to inform the poor trapped librarian that my generation is so tragic that not only are we ignorant, but we don't even know how ignorant we are. We are too stupid to figure that out, see? And because of our unfortunate mentally challenged generation, aided in our ignorance by the evil libraries that supply us with "drivel" to read and force us to avoid the "classic literature" that they must keep hidden in tucked-away corners, civilization as a whole is going to completely collapse.
I was not able to engage him in a debate because I felt bad for the poor library worker and did not want to keep her trapped any longer than necessary. However, I would like to say that my friends and I read classic literature all the time. For fun. Not just for classes. I will almost guarantee that I have read more "classic literature" than this man. In order to prove this to myself and brag just a little, I am writing out some of the classics I have read that come readily to mind. To prove my generation is awesome, should you read this blog, you should comment with classics you have read.
Les Miserables, Anna Karenina, The Three Musketeers, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Odyssey, The Iliad, Medea, Oedipus Rex, Antigone, Romeo and Juliet, As You Like It, Hamlet, Julius Caesar, The Merry Wives of Windsor, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Titus Andronicus, Macbeth, Gone With the Wind, Pride and Prejudice, Crime and Punishment, Emma, Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park, Canterbury Tales, Beowulf...I will very likely keep adding to this just to feel even more superior.
Take that, Sir Hooters-hat.
I was casually browsing the dvds at the public library today because I am too cheap to rent a movie when there is a perfectly good supply of free ones. The long dvd rack is right next to the information desk which is why I was in a perfect position to unashamedly eavesdrop when I heard psycho-man getting worked up into a solid rant.
The first sentence that drew me into the conversation was something to the effect of "you libraries are ruining society". Bold statement. He continued to explain that the library was leading to the downfall of civilization because instead of stocking only classic novels or books on nothing but facts, they insist on including modern "authors" (I use quotes because he also explained that there is no such thing as a modern author. All modern writers are ignorant boobs completely incapable of being as well-read as Sir Hooters-baseball-cap over here.). These modern books are what is destroying society. This is because, as we all know, if there is any alternative to someone of my generation reading a classic work of literature we will take it. That alternative could be some sort of slash fiction about vampire werewolf fairy hookers in victorian london and we would obviously still choose it over a classic. This man was convinced not only that my generation is completely incapable of freely choosing to read a "classic" book, but that should any library worker ever speak against the evil, tyrannical library administration they would be brutally cast out of library-world, never to return.
Like this. Only with people and books and such.
So, really, nothing like this.
I would like to point out that I did not decide he was talking about my generation simply because it is fun to be offended sometimes. This man actually pointed directly at me when he talked about the "unread" generation. Granted, I was only facing him sideways, but still. Come on. Then he continued to inform the poor trapped librarian that my generation is so tragic that not only are we ignorant, but we don't even know how ignorant we are. We are too stupid to figure that out, see? And because of our unfortunate mentally challenged generation, aided in our ignorance by the evil libraries that supply us with "drivel" to read and force us to avoid the "classic literature" that they must keep hidden in tucked-away corners, civilization as a whole is going to completely collapse.
I was not able to engage him in a debate because I felt bad for the poor library worker and did not want to keep her trapped any longer than necessary. However, I would like to say that my friends and I read classic literature all the time. For fun. Not just for classes. I will almost guarantee that I have read more "classic literature" than this man. In order to prove this to myself and brag just a little, I am writing out some of the classics I have read that come readily to mind. To prove my generation is awesome, should you read this blog, you should comment with classics you have read.
Les Miserables, Anna Karenina, The Three Musketeers, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Odyssey, The Iliad, Medea, Oedipus Rex, Antigone, Romeo and Juliet, As You Like It, Hamlet, Julius Caesar, The Merry Wives of Windsor, A Midsummer Night's Dream, Titus Andronicus, Macbeth, Gone With the Wind, Pride and Prejudice, Crime and Punishment, Emma, Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park, Canterbury Tales, Beowulf...I will very likely keep adding to this just to feel even more superior.
Take that, Sir Hooters-hat.
The hat kept his wisdom in.
9.10.2010
Food and other mysterious things...
...well, mostly just food. But mysterious things about food!
Tyler and I are what is commonly referred to as broke. We take great pride in being thrifty at this juncture in our lives, partially because "thrifty" sound much cooler and more responsible than "cheap". One of the exciting ways that we are thrifty is by making our own food instead of going out to eat. This has led not only to adventureous grocery shopping games like "find the cheapest form of cheese that is still actually cheese!" and "do we need that?" but also to some grand cooking adventures.
Tyler is a courageous chef. Challenges like how to make a meal out of a half-jar of pickles, dijon mustard and brown rice do not intimidate him. He boldly goes where no recipe has gone before and always pulls off a surprisingly ridiculously tasty meal. He also is actually good at cooking. Not only does the man have his own meat-grinder, but he also has created a small arsenal of insanely tasty meals. He makes without a doubt the best black bean burgers I have ever eaten. He makes orange chicken that is incredible. He makes pasta and salads and just tonight created a brand-new dish out of home-made sweet barbeque sauce (which apparently included ketchup and whiskey among other things), sausage, brown rice, green peppers, and some mysterious little spicy peppers that released their spicy burning chemical into the air as they cooked and made both of us cough like we had been attacked by a vengeful vindaloo cloud. Really tasty though. I am just saying, the man can cook.
I am not so courageous. When Tyler would come to visit me in Spokane, I made him canned tomato soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, and frozen potstickers. Not so much in the way of "creativity" or "cooking experience" or "anything I actually made with ingredients". I have attempted some meals since being here though and so far they are not complete failures. Nachos have been successful. The tuna melts were another step in the right direction (did you know that dijon mustard works well instead of mayo? and that red peppers are delicious with tuna, mustard, and cheddar?). My boldest move yet has been chicken fajitas (though Tyler insists that I have made incredibly good food so far). However, I am not a daring cook. I am a baking fan. I like being told exactly how much of everything to put in, how long to cook it at what temperature, and knowing that in the end I will be rewarded with something that is tasty. These experiments are not so much my thing. But I am trying.
Really what I am saying is do not be surprised if my new-found boldness results in blogs about some sort of monstrosity made from the leftover sweet potatoes in our pantry and whatever meat we still have waiting in our fridge. Off to cook. Wish me luck.
Tyler and I are what is commonly referred to as broke. We take great pride in being thrifty at this juncture in our lives, partially because "thrifty" sound much cooler and more responsible than "cheap". One of the exciting ways that we are thrifty is by making our own food instead of going out to eat. This has led not only to adventureous grocery shopping games like "find the cheapest form of cheese that is still actually cheese!" and "do we need that?" but also to some grand cooking adventures.
Tyler is a courageous chef. Challenges like how to make a meal out of a half-jar of pickles, dijon mustard and brown rice do not intimidate him. He boldly goes where no recipe has gone before and always pulls off a surprisingly ridiculously tasty meal. He also is actually good at cooking. Not only does the man have his own meat-grinder, but he also has created a small arsenal of insanely tasty meals. He makes without a doubt the best black bean burgers I have ever eaten. He makes orange chicken that is incredible. He makes pasta and salads and just tonight created a brand-new dish out of home-made sweet barbeque sauce (which apparently included ketchup and whiskey among other things), sausage, brown rice, green peppers, and some mysterious little spicy peppers that released their spicy burning chemical into the air as they cooked and made both of us cough like we had been attacked by a vengeful vindaloo cloud. Really tasty though. I am just saying, the man can cook.
I am not so courageous. When Tyler would come to visit me in Spokane, I made him canned tomato soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, and frozen potstickers. Not so much in the way of "creativity" or "cooking experience" or "anything I actually made with ingredients". I have attempted some meals since being here though and so far they are not complete failures. Nachos have been successful. The tuna melts were another step in the right direction (did you know that dijon mustard works well instead of mayo? and that red peppers are delicious with tuna, mustard, and cheddar?). My boldest move yet has been chicken fajitas (though Tyler insists that I have made incredibly good food so far). However, I am not a daring cook. I am a baking fan. I like being told exactly how much of everything to put in, how long to cook it at what temperature, and knowing that in the end I will be rewarded with something that is tasty. These experiments are not so much my thing. But I am trying.
Really what I am saying is do not be surprised if my new-found boldness results in blogs about some sort of monstrosity made from the leftover sweet potatoes in our pantry and whatever meat we still have waiting in our fridge. Off to cook. Wish me luck.
9.03.2010
As luck would not have it...
I have days where I am extraordinarily unlucky. Not in huge things. I'm not country-song unlucky. But still...
I don't just mean in terms of stubbing my toe or something like that. My lack of coordination is so much a part of me that I pretty much just take it for granted that I will injure myself at least once on any given day. Just ask anyone who has lived with me. I stumble around and run into things so much in the mornings that one of my housemates said I sound like a small, crippled elephant when I wake up. Judging purely by the number of unexplained bruises I find on my shins and arms, I would agree.
But today featured just a small spurt of random unluckiness. The main event this revolved around was a bike ride. I woke up really wanting to take a bike ride. There were good reasons for this. Reason 1: I have done nearly nothing in the past several weeks that could really be considered "working out" (unless you count how sore my calves were after a day of walking in heels). My body is beginning to have the definition of a miniature Jabba the Hut. Reason 2: It is ungodly hot here today and my motivation to work out did not quite go far enough to motivate me to go for a run and, as I do not have a gym membership, working out indoors was not exactly an option. Reason 3: I really wanted to go to the bookstore on campus to further waste time and it is too far to walk in the heat and you have to pay for parking.
In order to go on this adventure in athleticism I had to tackle the problem that has been sitting on our balcony: my bike's flat tire. I have never fixed a tire before. Or a tube, which I guess was the problem. I had a replacement tube on hand so I decided it couldn't possibly be that hard to fix. I disconnected my back tire from the bike, getting chain grease all over me in the process. Because I didn't have the precious "tire levers" they recommended that I use, I decided to be innovative and use a screwdriver (of the non-Phillip's head variety. I knew about the puncture risk. I was careful!). Tire - removed. Tube - removed. New tube - inserted. Tire - put back on. After putting my tire back on my bike and feeling far too smug for being able to re-attach the chain all by myself, I pumped up the tire with minor difficulty. Fixed! I felt like some sort of handy-woman goddess. This amount of pride in myself, by the way, was a mistake.
Helmet firmly in place (apparently it's illegal to ride your bike here without one, though I saw lots of other cyclists not wearing helmets), I headed down our three floors to the street, hitting my shins repeatedly with the bike. These things happen. I started biking away from the house, flying down the sidewalks and streets around me, giving nods to all the other biker-people, obviously healthy and active just like me. I shifted and braked, signaled and turned. I was feeling powerful and far, far too awesome. And I was unfamiliar with feeling that athletic and awesome. Which I think is why I was not really very surprised when the back tire completely popped a few miles away from the apartment.
I got off the bike to assess the damage. The tube I am sure was popped but now the tire as well had developed a huge tear just above the rim. I laughed to myself a little. I can't really explain why I was apparently so determined to take this all with good humor. Maybe I was dehydrated or something. It was hot. I promise I lost a bit of the humor of the situation when I got a mile or two into my sweat-soaked, uphill hike with a bike that kept hitting me in the back of the calves and tearing little bits of my flesh out. I felt not nearly as cool walking past all the students and successful cyclists on the way home. In fact, I felt a little pathetic. But I guess I actually got that workout between the biking and the hiking...
Anyway, I am successfully back in the apartment, the devil-bike is sitting in our kitchen, and I am debating whether to read or watch dvds I have taken from the public library. Who am I kidding. I am totally going to sit in the living room and watch dvds. I need a job.
I don't just mean in terms of stubbing my toe or something like that. My lack of coordination is so much a part of me that I pretty much just take it for granted that I will injure myself at least once on any given day. Just ask anyone who has lived with me. I stumble around and run into things so much in the mornings that one of my housemates said I sound like a small, crippled elephant when I wake up. Judging purely by the number of unexplained bruises I find on my shins and arms, I would agree.
But today featured just a small spurt of random unluckiness. The main event this revolved around was a bike ride. I woke up really wanting to take a bike ride. There were good reasons for this. Reason 1: I have done nearly nothing in the past several weeks that could really be considered "working out" (unless you count how sore my calves were after a day of walking in heels). My body is beginning to have the definition of a miniature Jabba the Hut. Reason 2: It is ungodly hot here today and my motivation to work out did not quite go far enough to motivate me to go for a run and, as I do not have a gym membership, working out indoors was not exactly an option. Reason 3: I really wanted to go to the bookstore on campus to further waste time and it is too far to walk in the heat and you have to pay for parking.
In order to go on this adventure in athleticism I had to tackle the problem that has been sitting on our balcony: my bike's flat tire. I have never fixed a tire before. Or a tube, which I guess was the problem. I had a replacement tube on hand so I decided it couldn't possibly be that hard to fix. I disconnected my back tire from the bike, getting chain grease all over me in the process. Because I didn't have the precious "tire levers" they recommended that I use, I decided to be innovative and use a screwdriver (of the non-Phillip's head variety. I knew about the puncture risk. I was careful!). Tire - removed. Tube - removed. New tube - inserted. Tire - put back on. After putting my tire back on my bike and feeling far too smug for being able to re-attach the chain all by myself, I pumped up the tire with minor difficulty. Fixed! I felt like some sort of handy-woman goddess. This amount of pride in myself, by the way, was a mistake.
Helmet firmly in place (apparently it's illegal to ride your bike here without one, though I saw lots of other cyclists not wearing helmets), I headed down our three floors to the street, hitting my shins repeatedly with the bike. These things happen. I started biking away from the house, flying down the sidewalks and streets around me, giving nods to all the other biker-people, obviously healthy and active just like me. I shifted and braked, signaled and turned. I was feeling powerful and far, far too awesome. And I was unfamiliar with feeling that athletic and awesome. Which I think is why I was not really very surprised when the back tire completely popped a few miles away from the apartment.
I got off the bike to assess the damage. The tube I am sure was popped but now the tire as well had developed a huge tear just above the rim. I laughed to myself a little. I can't really explain why I was apparently so determined to take this all with good humor. Maybe I was dehydrated or something. It was hot. I promise I lost a bit of the humor of the situation when I got a mile or two into my sweat-soaked, uphill hike with a bike that kept hitting me in the back of the calves and tearing little bits of my flesh out. I felt not nearly as cool walking past all the students and successful cyclists on the way home. In fact, I felt a little pathetic. But I guess I actually got that workout between the biking and the hiking...
Anyway, I am successfully back in the apartment, the devil-bike is sitting in our kitchen, and I am debating whether to read or watch dvds I have taken from the public library. Who am I kidding. I am totally going to sit in the living room and watch dvds. I need a job.
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