My freshman year roommate from Scripps College, Stephanie Bulger, was eliminated from Bravo's reality TV series Make Me a Supermodel last Thursday. While I watched religiously, and exercised all 10 of my opportunities to vote for her when she slipped into the bottom 3, I am not upset at her rejection, nor do I believe that she is. You see, the ironic thing is that although Stephanie did indeed audition for the show and was eventually chosen as a contestant, she doesn't WANT to be a supermodel.
Stephanie has always been an art fan. Her room at home in Texas is plastered with her own acrylic masterpieces, and her class schedule is chock-full of artsy fartsy studio classes. In her spare time she studies dance-- everything from modern to ballet to hip-hop-- and is an afficionado of music and fashion.
Naturally thin, tall and blonde, with cheekbones to die for, strangers and friends would often stop us walking across campus to suggest the idea of modeling as a career to Steph. They seemed convinced that this suggestion was a moment of their own brilliance, an epiphany that, if taken, would change her life forever. But I knew better.
Stephanie is an artist first. Indeed, she fluorished in the art and movement-based episode of MMAS, but floundered when it came time to show off her acting chops. A rational being at heart, she loves quirk and flamboyance too much to subject herself to the whims of a handful of hack-job producers and celebrity judges.
Nor does she have a dearth of opportunity waiting for her back where she came from. While many contestants seemingly face a lackluster return to the real world with full-time jobs as waitresses and valet parkers, Steph returns to a nearly completed degree. A degree she wouldn't have taken advantage of as a supermodel.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Eclipse
So there I was, waitressing away at my side gig on Wed night, when all of a sudden BAM! people started pushing away their pho, pulling out their chairs and stumbling into the glow of the moon. Half of it, anyways.
I joined them, notepad and pen still in hand, neck craned, to stare at the slowly disappearing orb emptily. This should have been an ecstatic experience. I should have been blinded with fear and sudden darkness. Had I been living in a time before electricity or way the heck out in the middle of nowhere, it would have been. I would have ripped off my clothes and run naked towards the place where the moon should have been, begging the gods of the sky to take me instead.
Me, the lowly woman. The woman who delivers spring rolls and edits the unrehearsed writing of college students. The woman who reads books, only to regurgitate them on paper, meshing the words of the authors with her own narrow thoughts.
But standing on the sidewalk along Colorado Blvd, surrounded by the glare of headlights and streetlamps and billboards, I felt hollow. It didn't matter if the moon went out. I needn't have called it back to light my way home or to illuminate my hunt for dinner.
The blank patch of dusky sky could have been any moonless stretch of space. No part of me felt the need for self-sacrifice. And I walked back inside aided by a neon-green electric glow. And I ate my dinner out of a styrofoam box.
I joined them, notepad and pen still in hand, neck craned, to stare at the slowly disappearing orb emptily. This should have been an ecstatic experience. I should have been blinded with fear and sudden darkness. Had I been living in a time before electricity or way the heck out in the middle of nowhere, it would have been. I would have ripped off my clothes and run naked towards the place where the moon should have been, begging the gods of the sky to take me instead.
Me, the lowly woman. The woman who delivers spring rolls and edits the unrehearsed writing of college students. The woman who reads books, only to regurgitate them on paper, meshing the words of the authors with her own narrow thoughts.
But standing on the sidewalk along Colorado Blvd, surrounded by the glare of headlights and streetlamps and billboards, I felt hollow. It didn't matter if the moon went out. I needn't have called it back to light my way home or to illuminate my hunt for dinner.
The blank patch of dusky sky could have been any moonless stretch of space. No part of me felt the need for self-sacrifice. And I walked back inside aided by a neon-green electric glow. And I ate my dinner out of a styrofoam box.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Bye Bye Fidel
Fidel Castro announced his plan to step down from the Cuban presidency today in a letter to the Cuban magazine Granma, as he is no longer physically able to fulfill the responsibilities associated with his post. The new president has not yet been decided, although rumors cite Castro's brother Raul as a possible candidate.
This could have serious consequences for the future of Cuba. Many speculators are hoping for a transition into capitalism with Castro's departure, but if the younger Castro immediately takes over his post, rapid societal change seems unlikely. Communism might not be going anywhere for quite some time.
Even if the alternate candidate, current vice president Carlos Lage is selected when the national assembly meets to make their decision, Cubans might not all be thrilled. Lage is known for his series of capitalistic reforms in the late '90's, in which some Cubans gained the right to own and operate private businesses.
While these changes have boded well for Cubans looking to enhance their own economic opportunities, they could also signal the demise of the Cuban universal healthcare and education programs currently supplied to the island's more than 11 million people.
This could have serious consequences for the future of Cuba. Many speculators are hoping for a transition into capitalism with Castro's departure, but if the younger Castro immediately takes over his post, rapid societal change seems unlikely. Communism might not be going anywhere for quite some time.
Even if the alternate candidate, current vice president Carlos Lage is selected when the national assembly meets to make their decision, Cubans might not all be thrilled. Lage is known for his series of capitalistic reforms in the late '90's, in which some Cubans gained the right to own and operate private businesses.
While these changes have boded well for Cubans looking to enhance their own economic opportunities, they could also signal the demise of the Cuban universal healthcare and education programs currently supplied to the island's more than 11 million people.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Kermit, Move Over
Paleontologists have just revealed the discovery of fossils from an enormous armored toad in Madagascar. Said to have measured 16 inches and weighed 10 lbs, Beelzebufo (devil toad in translation) is believed to have snacked on dinosaur hatchlings back in the day.
Just when I thought this couldn't be any cooler, I learned that Beelzebufo is a relative of normal sized toads in South America today, a fact that challenges current ideas about geography and advocates for the existence of a later term landbridge than we had previously believed to exist.
This is almost too good to be true. In my book, it is hard to beat the sheer amazingness of a giant toad. This guy even had teeth. Now that the writer's strike is over, someone down in Hollywood needs to get their pen in gear and write a screenplay about Beelzebufo. Maybe one featuring a bulked up Mel Gibson and some fair damsel in distress.
I am so impressed by this guy I might go to Madagascar and hang out with his bones for a few days. In fact, if he were still around today, I would give him a giant clap on his armored shoulder and a badge for being so legit. Just so long as he didn't give me giant warts.
Just when I thought this couldn't be any cooler, I learned that Beelzebufo is a relative of normal sized toads in South America today, a fact that challenges current ideas about geography and advocates for the existence of a later term landbridge than we had previously believed to exist.
This is almost too good to be true. In my book, it is hard to beat the sheer amazingness of a giant toad. This guy even had teeth. Now that the writer's strike is over, someone down in Hollywood needs to get their pen in gear and write a screenplay about Beelzebufo. Maybe one featuring a bulked up Mel Gibson and some fair damsel in distress.
I am so impressed by this guy I might go to Madagascar and hang out with his bones for a few days. In fact, if he were still around today, I would give him a giant clap on his armored shoulder and a badge for being so legit. Just so long as he didn't give me giant warts.
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Campaign Suggestions
Hilary Clinton has revamped her campaign with a new campaign manager. Maggie Williams, a long-time aid of the senators from the male Clinton administration, replaced previous manager Patty Solis Doyle earlier today.
The rationale behind the replacement is obvious. Clinton is losing her grip with losses in Washington, Maine, Louisiana and Nebraska and expected losses in Washington D.C., Virginia and Maryland. She is now less than 30 delegates ahead of Barack Obama, and loaned her own campaign $5 million earlier this week.
With the nomination up for grabs and no quick end in sight, campaign supporters, donors and the staff itself wanted new energy and perhaps a different approach, and Clinton made the change. (LA Times Online http://www.latimes.com/news/politics/la-na-hillary11feb11,0,7562049.story)
Will this be enough to help her pull through? With 237 delegates at stake on Feb 12 alone, it's hard to say. If I were her new campaign manager I might pencil in another tearful ratings-bumper of a speech or have her start volunteering at soup kitchens in Texas. At stake in their March 4th primary? A whopping 228 delegates.
The rationale behind the replacement is obvious. Clinton is losing her grip with losses in Washington, Maine, Louisiana and Nebraska and expected losses in Washington D.C., Virginia and Maryland. She is now less than 30 delegates ahead of Barack Obama, and loaned her own campaign $5 million earlier this week.
With the nomination up for grabs and no quick end in sight, campaign supporters, donors and the staff itself wanted new energy and perhaps a different approach, and Clinton made the change. (LA Times Online http://www.latimes.com/news/politics/la-na-hillary11feb11,0,7562049.story)
Will this be enough to help her pull through? With 237 delegates at stake on Feb 12 alone, it's hard to say. If I were her new campaign manager I might pencil in another tearful ratings-bumper of a speech or have her start volunteering at soup kitchens in Texas. At stake in their March 4th primary? A whopping 228 delegates.
Gas Pains
Last Thursday morning I awoke to the pleasant scent of natural gas emanating from my kitchen. I quickly ascertained it's source-- a barely-turned-on burner-- and solved the problem, but the damage was largely done. A housemate and I frantically ran about the house opening windows and doors, trying our hardest not to cause any sparks with the friction between our stockinged feet and the hard-wood floor.
Unsure of the protocol associated with such a leak, we hesitated to leave immediately. What if our kitchen cabinets were singed shut in our absence, and all of our dishtowels destroyed? Still, when we both experienced phantom "gas pains" i.e. lightheadedness, stomach ache, we opted to head for the safety of the library.
I learned one thing from this experience. Natural gas detectors are good. Yes, they can be expensive, running between $40 and $80, but it is much more costly to replace your kitchen.
Unsure of the protocol associated with such a leak, we hesitated to leave immediately. What if our kitchen cabinets were singed shut in our absence, and all of our dishtowels destroyed? Still, when we both experienced phantom "gas pains" i.e. lightheadedness, stomach ache, we opted to head for the safety of the library.
I learned one thing from this experience. Natural gas detectors are good. Yes, they can be expensive, running between $40 and $80, but it is much more costly to replace your kitchen.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Watch Me Work
I have always been horrified at the Xtreme Fitness Center; a gym on the corner of Eagle Rock and Colorado boulevards with floor to ceiling plate-glass windows. Every evening able-bodied individuals roll across blue mats and throw punches at rows of red dangling bags while bored drivers waiting at the stoplight look them idly up and down. There is nothing that sounds less enjoyable to me than the thought of being eyed by strangers in a sweaty, heaving state. I don't even like to watch myself exercising in the mirror.
Still, somehow I ended up there last night for a kick boxing class with my overzealous house mates. I have never been much of a boxer. By which I mean that I didn't really know how. But I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of satisfaction I got from kicking the bejesus out of a swinging bag. Not to mention the whole increased heart rate, aerobic activity side of things.
It turns out I've been suffering from a lot of pent-up aggression towards others. This became apparent when I realized I was picturing an ex-boyfriend's grinning face on the bag midway through the session. At the end of the class, I felt so thoroughly cleansed of negative emotions that I opted to sign up for regular kickboxing lesson. Therapy without the social stigma of going to speak with a professional. Albeit therapy sessions don't usually come with such a captive audience.
Still, somehow I ended up there last night for a kick boxing class with my overzealous house mates. I have never been much of a boxer. By which I mean that I didn't really know how. But I was pleasantly surprised by the amount of satisfaction I got from kicking the bejesus out of a swinging bag. Not to mention the whole increased heart rate, aerobic activity side of things.
It turns out I've been suffering from a lot of pent-up aggression towards others. This became apparent when I realized I was picturing an ex-boyfriend's grinning face on the bag midway through the session. At the end of the class, I felt so thoroughly cleansed of negative emotions that I opted to sign up for regular kickboxing lesson. Therapy without the social stigma of going to speak with a professional. Albeit therapy sessions don't usually come with such a captive audience.
Oz
I'm sure at this point we are all aware of the bevy of tornadoes that rained down on southern states yesterday, killing upwards of 50 people in Kentucky, Mississippi, Arkansas, Tennessee and Alabama.
Our president prescribed a solution of combined prayer and government aid to the area. "Loss of life, loss of property -- prayers can help and so can the government," Bush said yesterday according to an LA Times article. "I do want the people in those states to know the American people are standing with them."
Lets flash back to August 29, 2005. The day Katrina hit New Orleans. The city had already been declared a federal state of emergency by President Bush two days earlier. Despite his supposed worry about the potential for disaster in Lousiana, when the 17th Street Canal Levee broke later that day, Bush was in Rancho Cucamonga, California giving a talk on prescription drugs for senior citizens.
It was over 5 hours after the hurricane hit that the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) called 1000 homeland security workers to the area sometime over the next two days.
Michael Brown, head of FEMA issued a press statement on the 29th ordering all First Responders NOT to respond to counties and states affected by the hurricane until they were requested by FEMA.
At the same time, 20,000 New Orleans residents were languishing in the Superdome without food or water.
If actions speak louder than words, President Bush might as well be hollering at tornado-stricken Southerners, "Maybe next week I'll do a flyby! Until then, I'm sure the Red Cross can lend y'all some bandaids!"
However, it is true what Bush says. The government CAN help. The question is, will it.
Until the day comes, tornado victims might want to dust off their ruby slippers and try tapping their toes a few times.
Our president prescribed a solution of combined prayer and government aid to the area. "Loss of life, loss of property -- prayers can help and so can the government," Bush said yesterday according to an LA Times article. "I do want the people in those states to know the American people are standing with them."
Lets flash back to August 29, 2005. The day Katrina hit New Orleans. The city had already been declared a federal state of emergency by President Bush two days earlier. Despite his supposed worry about the potential for disaster in Lousiana, when the 17th Street Canal Levee broke later that day, Bush was in Rancho Cucamonga, California giving a talk on prescription drugs for senior citizens.
It was over 5 hours after the hurricane hit that the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) called 1000 homeland security workers to the area sometime over the next two days.
Michael Brown, head of FEMA issued a press statement on the 29th ordering all First Responders NOT to respond to counties and states affected by the hurricane until they were requested by FEMA.
At the same time, 20,000 New Orleans residents were languishing in the Superdome without food or water.
If actions speak louder than words, President Bush might as well be hollering at tornado-stricken Southerners, "Maybe next week I'll do a flyby! Until then, I'm sure the Red Cross can lend y'all some bandaids!"
However, it is true what Bush says. The government CAN help. The question is, will it.
Until the day comes, tornado victims might want to dust off their ruby slippers and try tapping their toes a few times.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
The Upside of Food Poisoning
Nobody cares what I ate for lunch. Or so I've been told.
Still, I can't help but wonder whether my reader might be interested in what I'd consumed at midday if I were to suddenly develop a foodborne illness and spend the rest of the day crawling from bed to toilet, hands clasped above my trembling stomach as it did its best to violently expel every last whisper of its contents. The chances are good someone might be curious about the fine culinary work that had left me in such a state.
Interestingly enough, this is exactly how I spent the hours that bridged the divide between Friday night and Saturday morning. Celebrating the joys of sushi-induced food poisoning. The experience put quite a damper on my weekend plans, particularly when I proceeded to suffer from a dehydration-induced fainting spell during a poorly-conceived Saturday late lunch out. Though I have largely recovered at this point, I would be lying if I claimed not to still be victimized by the occasional "Dear God, take me to the nearest toilet" intestinal twinge while I sit in the library reading Stiglitz's analysis of the '97 East Asian currency crisis.
However, there is something to be said for the unifying power of food poisoning. All but the most iron-gutted of us seem to have fallen victim to its fiery clutches at one point or another, and the horror at its 1-2 punch gastrointestinal takeover is unanimous. The outpouring of support from friends, family and community in my time of incapacitation was overwhelming. Not only was I overcome by a warm loving glow when the friend who'd supplied me with the offending raw fish brought me ginger ale and apple slices in bed, but I have never felt closer to a restaurant employee than when our waitress immediately swooped over to rescue me from the perils of the floor, all the while making concerned noises.
All things considered, I can't help but feel a slight fondness towards food poisoning and the human connections it fostered in my life this weekend. Perhaps I'll go back for round two of the tuna rolls next Friday.
Still, I can't help but wonder whether my reader might be interested in what I'd consumed at midday if I were to suddenly develop a foodborne illness and spend the rest of the day crawling from bed to toilet, hands clasped above my trembling stomach as it did its best to violently expel every last whisper of its contents. The chances are good someone might be curious about the fine culinary work that had left me in such a state.
Interestingly enough, this is exactly how I spent the hours that bridged the divide between Friday night and Saturday morning. Celebrating the joys of sushi-induced food poisoning. The experience put quite a damper on my weekend plans, particularly when I proceeded to suffer from a dehydration-induced fainting spell during a poorly-conceived Saturday late lunch out. Though I have largely recovered at this point, I would be lying if I claimed not to still be victimized by the occasional "Dear God, take me to the nearest toilet" intestinal twinge while I sit in the library reading Stiglitz's analysis of the '97 East Asian currency crisis.
However, there is something to be said for the unifying power of food poisoning. All but the most iron-gutted of us seem to have fallen victim to its fiery clutches at one point or another, and the horror at its 1-2 punch gastrointestinal takeover is unanimous. The outpouring of support from friends, family and community in my time of incapacitation was overwhelming. Not only was I overcome by a warm loving glow when the friend who'd supplied me with the offending raw fish brought me ginger ale and apple slices in bed, but I have never felt closer to a restaurant employee than when our waitress immediately swooped over to rescue me from the perils of the floor, all the while making concerned noises.
All things considered, I can't help but feel a slight fondness towards food poisoning and the human connections it fostered in my life this weekend. Perhaps I'll go back for round two of the tuna rolls next Friday.
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