This year, I will be receiving a degree from an academic institution that boasts the following factoids:
Manhattanville College
*Reid Hall ("The Castle") was a potential site for the United Nations.
*The property was the former estate of Whitelaw Reid, editor of the New York Herald Tribune, and Ambassador to the United Kingdom before WW2
*The Biology Park was designed by renowned architect Maya Lin, designer of the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, DC
*The campus was designed by Frederick Law Olmstead, the designer of Central Park in NYC
*There is a graveyard on campus which holds the remains of nearly 50 nuns
Note: At this point, everyone reading this should be exceedingly jealous if they don't/didn't go to school here. But feel free to continue on...
*During the Vietnam War, the main academic building was overtaken by students in protest
*The interior of Reid Hall was used in the recent film verision of The Thomas Crown Affiar
*Manhattanville is mentioned in the film, The Funeral, starring Christopher Walken, Benicio Del Toro, Vincent Gallo, Gretchen Mol, Chris Penn, and Isabella Rossellini; the main character says she graduated from Manhattanville.
*Manhattanville boasts the oldest nation-wide portfolio system
*Senator Edward Kennedy (D) Mass. met his former wife, Joan Bennett Kennedy while delivering a speech dedicating the gymnasium in his sister's honor
*Richard Rodgers visited Manhattanville in 1959 to research liturgical music for The Sound of Music and according to college documents, Rodgers was inspired to write the song, "The Hills are Alive With the Sound of Music," while on campus
* Notable alumni include:
-An assload of Kennedy women, including JFK's mother, Rose.
-Flora Miller Biddle, President of the Whitney Museum of American Art
-Anita Florio, New York Supreme Court Justice
-Gov. Sila Calderon, Governor of Puerto Rico
Saturday, July 28, 2007
TV Food Network Fans - Watch Out!
Recently by way of my good friend Danielle, I've been introduced (not in real life...but that would be cool as hell) to the celebrity chef, writer, and TV host Anthony "Tony" Bourdain.
For those of you not familiar with him, Tony is the badass chain-smoking host of the show "No Reservations" (on the Travel Channel), which features him jet-setting to different countries, getting trashed with the locals, smoking about 10 packs of cigarettes per episode, and sampling some of their local [and sometimes raunchy] cuisines. Here are some examples:
This past week, Danielle sent me a guest blog of his, featuring his distaste for the TV Food Network (and it's chefs). It was so hilarious that I just have to share (thanks Danielle!):
NOBODY ASKED ME, BUT……
By Anthony Bourdain
I actually WATCH Food Network now and again, more often than not drawn in by the progressive horrors on screen. I find myself riveted by its awfulness, like watching a multi-car accident in slow motion. Mesmerized at the ascent of the Ready-Made bobblehead personalities, and the not-so-subtle shunting aside of the Old School chefs, I find myself de-constructing the not-terrible shows, imagining behind the scenes struggles and frustrations, and obsessing unhealthily on the Truly Awful ones. Screaming out loud at Sandra Lee in disbelief as she massacres another dish, then sits grinning, her face stretched into a terrifying rictus of faux cheer for the final triumphant presentation. I mourn for Mario..and Alton...Bobby and yes--even Emeril, nobly holding the fort while the TV empire he helped build crumbles like undercooked Bundt cake into a goo of Cheez Wiz around him.
Some thoughts on the Newer, Younger, More Male-Oriented, More Dumb-Ass Food Network:
ALTON BROWN: How did Alton slip inside the wire--and stay there all these years? He must have something on them. He's smart. You actually learn something from his commentary. And I'll admit it: I watch and enjoy Iron Chef America-in all its cheesy glory. Absolutely SHOCKED and thrilled when guys like Homaru Cantu show up as contestants--and delighted when Mario wins--again and again, forestalling his secretly long-planned execution. His commentary is mostly good. And that collar-bone snapping fall off the motorcycle on Feasting On Asphalt? Good television!
EMERIL: I'm actually grateful when I channel surf across his show. He's STILL there--the original Behemoth. And I STILL find him unwatchable. As much mileage as I've gotten over the years, making fun of Emeril; he deserves a lot more respect than I've given him. He does run a very successful and very decent restaurant group. He is--in fact--a really nice guy. And-as much as I hate the show-- compared to the current crop of culinary non-entities, he looks like Escoffier. He will probably be the last of the Real Chefs. I'm sure they're growing future replacement options in petrie dishes somewhere, conducting Top Secret focus groups at suburban malls with their latest Bright Young Hopeful. I'm just glad he's still there--a rebuke to the geniuses who brought us such Great Ideas as Dweezil and Lisa.
BOBBY FLAY: They seem to have noticed Bobby's strong "negatives" among some viewer responses during focus groups--and decided to respond by subjecting poor Bobby to THROWDOWN; the object of which is to allow every web-fingered geek with a backyard grill--or half-mad muffin maker to proclaim, "I beat Bobby Flay at makin' barbeque!" at the heart-warming end of show--before returning to tend their meth labs.. I watched poor Bobby battle to a draw recently in some bogus Southwestern "Chili Face-Off." Now…does ANYONE actually believe that Bobby Flay can't make a better chili than a supermarket ground beef bearing amateur? I don't. It's a cruel exercise in humiliation. A variation on "Dunk Bozo" or "Shoot The Geek," at the carnival. And whatever I might have thought of Flay's previous TV efforts, I find the network's misuse of one of their founding chefs to be nauseatingly cynical. The conspiratorial-minded might be tempted to suspect this as yet another part of the Secret Plan to rid themselves of the annoyingly big ticket chefs--by driving Bobby to quit--or insane with misery. He may not be Mr. Cuddlesworth, but he's a successful businessman and a good chef--and he doesn't, after all, need this shit.
MARIO!
Oh, Mario! Oh great one! They shut down Molto Mario--only the smartest and best of the stand-up cooking shows. Is there any more egregiously under-used, criminally mishandled, dismissively treated chef on television? Relegated to the circus of Iron Chef America, where--like a great, toothless lion, fouling his cage, he hangs on--and on--a major draw (and often the only reason to watch the show). How I would like to see him unchained, free to make the television shows he's capable of, the Real Mario--in all his Rabelasian brilliance. How I would love to hear the snapping bones of his cruel FN ringmasters, crunching between his mighty jaws! Let us see the cloven hooves beneath those cheery clogs! Let Mario be Mario!
THAT ACE OF CAKES GUY: Hey…He's got talent! And..he seems to be a trained chef! And he's really making food--and selling it in a real business! I think…I like it! If I have one reservation, it's that I have no idea if the stuff actually TASTES good. It LOOKS really creative and quirky--and I'm interested but…I mean...it's like construction going on over there from what we're told and shown. One suspects that the producers don't want to waste valuable time talking about anything so technical as food--on "Food" Network. I mean...what's in those cakes, beneath the icing and marzipan and fondant? That said, it's the only "kicky, new, cutting edge, in-your-face" hopeful they've managed to trot out of any quality in memory. Hope it lasts. Wait till they try and put the poor bastard on a pony--or do a "Tailgate Special" with the usual suspects. Or a "Thanksgiving Special" where he has to sit down with the bobbleheads and pretend to like it. On balance, it's still probably the best new project they've come up with in a long, long time.
GIADA: What's going on here!? Giada can actually cook! She was robbed in her bout versus Rachael Ray on ICA. ROBBED! And Food Net seems more interested in her enormous head (big head equals big ratings. Really!) and her cleavage--than the fact that she's likeable, knows what she's doing in an Italian kitchen--and makes food you'd actually want to eat. The new high concept Weekend Getaway show is a horrible, tired re-cap of the cheap-ass "Best Of" and "40 Dollar a Day" formula. Send host to empty restaurant. Watch them make crappy food for her. Have her take a few lonely, awkward stabs at the plate, then feign enjoyment with appropriately orgasmic eye-closing and moaning..Before spitting it out and rushing to the trailer. Send her to Italy and let her cook. She's good at it.
RACHAEL: Complain all you want. It's like railing against the pounding surf. She only grows stronger and more powerful. Her ear-shattering tones louder and louder. We KNOW she can't cook. She shrewdly tells us so. So...what is she selling us? Really? She's selling us satisfaction, the smug reassurance that mediocrity is quite enough. She's a friendly, familiar face who appears regularly on our screens to tell us that "Even your dumb, lazy ass can cook this!" Wallowing in your own crapulence on your Cheeto-littered couch you watch her and think, "Hell…I could do that. I ain't gonna…but I could--if I wanted! Now where's my damn jug a Diet Pepsi?" Where the saintly Julia Child sought to raise expectations, to enlighten us, make us better--teach us--and in fact, did, Rachael uses her strange and terrible powers to narcotize her public with her hypnotic mantra of Yummo and Evoo and Sammys. "You're doing just fine. You don't even have to chop an onion--you can buy it already chopped. Aspire to nothing…Just sit there. Have another Triscuit…Sleep….sleep…."
PAULA DEEN: I'm reluctant to bash what seems to be a nice old lady. Even if her supporting cast is beginning to look like the Hills Have Eyes--and her food a True Buffet of Horrors. A recent Hawaii show was indistinguishable from an early John Waters film. And the food on a par with the last scene of Pink Flamingos. But I'd like to see her mad. Like her look-alike, Divine in the classic, "Female Trouble." Paula Deen on a Baltimore Killing Spree would be something to see. Let her get Rachael in a headlock--and it's all over.
SANDRA LEE: Pure evil. This frightening Hell Spawn of Kathie Lee and Betty Crocker seems on a mission to kill her fans, one meal at a time. She Must Be Stopped. Her death-dealing can-opening ways will cut a swath of destruction through the world if not contained. I would likely be arrested if I suggested on television that any children watching should promptly go to a wooded area with a gun and harm themselves. What's the difference between that and Sandra suggesting we fill our mouths with Ritz Crackers, jam a can of Cheez Wiz in after and press hard? None that I can see. This is simply irresponsible programming. Its only possible use might be as a psychological warfare strategy against the resurgent Taliban--or dangerous insurgent groups. A large-racked blonde repeatedly urging Afghans and angry Iraqis to stuff themseles with fatty, processed American foods might be just the weapon we need to win the war on terror.
AND FINALLY: Some IRON CHEF AMERICA match-ups I'd REALLY like to see:
Mario Batali (with one arm tied behind his back--and drunk) vs. Regina Schrambling
Michael Ruhlman, swacked on Ripple, vs. John Mariani-- in a Charcuterie Challenge
Grant Achatz vs. That Guy In Australia Who Ripped off his recipes as his own
Marco Pierre White vs. Gordon Ramsay
Charlie Trotter vs. Martin Picard (Chicken Livers vs. Foie Gras)
Chris Cosentino, Fergus Henderson, Martin Picard vs. Alain Passard, Roxanne Klein and Charlie Trotter (Cooked vs. Raw Challenge)
Martha Stewart vs. Rachael Ray (bare knuckle cage match)
Ducasse vs. Robuchon
"Mikey" from Top Chef vs. Sandra Lee
Video Gold!
For those of you not familiar with him, Tony is the badass chain-smoking host of the show "No Reservations" (on the Travel Channel), which features him jet-setting to different countries, getting trashed with the locals, smoking about 10 packs of cigarettes per episode, and sampling some of their local [and sometimes raunchy] cuisines. Here are some examples:
This past week, Danielle sent me a guest blog of his, featuring his distaste for the TV Food Network (and it's chefs). It was so hilarious that I just have to share (thanks Danielle!):
NOBODY ASKED ME, BUT……
By Anthony Bourdain
I actually WATCH Food Network now and again, more often than not drawn in by the progressive horrors on screen. I find myself riveted by its awfulness, like watching a multi-car accident in slow motion. Mesmerized at the ascent of the Ready-Made bobblehead personalities, and the not-so-subtle shunting aside of the Old School chefs, I find myself de-constructing the not-terrible shows, imagining behind the scenes struggles and frustrations, and obsessing unhealthily on the Truly Awful ones. Screaming out loud at Sandra Lee in disbelief as she massacres another dish, then sits grinning, her face stretched into a terrifying rictus of faux cheer for the final triumphant presentation. I mourn for Mario..and Alton...Bobby and yes--even Emeril, nobly holding the fort while the TV empire he helped build crumbles like undercooked Bundt cake into a goo of Cheez Wiz around him.
Some thoughts on the Newer, Younger, More Male-Oriented, More Dumb-Ass Food Network:
ALTON BROWN: How did Alton slip inside the wire--and stay there all these years? He must have something on them. He's smart. You actually learn something from his commentary. And I'll admit it: I watch and enjoy Iron Chef America-in all its cheesy glory. Absolutely SHOCKED and thrilled when guys like Homaru Cantu show up as contestants--and delighted when Mario wins--again and again, forestalling his secretly long-planned execution. His commentary is mostly good. And that collar-bone snapping fall off the motorcycle on Feasting On Asphalt? Good television!
EMERIL: I'm actually grateful when I channel surf across his show. He's STILL there--the original Behemoth. And I STILL find him unwatchable. As much mileage as I've gotten over the years, making fun of Emeril; he deserves a lot more respect than I've given him. He does run a very successful and very decent restaurant group. He is--in fact--a really nice guy. And-as much as I hate the show-- compared to the current crop of culinary non-entities, he looks like Escoffier. He will probably be the last of the Real Chefs. I'm sure they're growing future replacement options in petrie dishes somewhere, conducting Top Secret focus groups at suburban malls with their latest Bright Young Hopeful. I'm just glad he's still there--a rebuke to the geniuses who brought us such Great Ideas as Dweezil and Lisa.
BOBBY FLAY: They seem to have noticed Bobby's strong "negatives" among some viewer responses during focus groups--and decided to respond by subjecting poor Bobby to THROWDOWN; the object of which is to allow every web-fingered geek with a backyard grill--or half-mad muffin maker to proclaim, "I beat Bobby Flay at makin' barbeque!" at the heart-warming end of show--before returning to tend their meth labs.. I watched poor Bobby battle to a draw recently in some bogus Southwestern "Chili Face-Off." Now…does ANYONE actually believe that Bobby Flay can't make a better chili than a supermarket ground beef bearing amateur? I don't. It's a cruel exercise in humiliation. A variation on "Dunk Bozo" or "Shoot The Geek," at the carnival. And whatever I might have thought of Flay's previous TV efforts, I find the network's misuse of one of their founding chefs to be nauseatingly cynical. The conspiratorial-minded might be tempted to suspect this as yet another part of the Secret Plan to rid themselves of the annoyingly big ticket chefs--by driving Bobby to quit--or insane with misery. He may not be Mr. Cuddlesworth, but he's a successful businessman and a good chef--and he doesn't, after all, need this shit.
MARIO!
Oh, Mario! Oh great one! They shut down Molto Mario--only the smartest and best of the stand-up cooking shows. Is there any more egregiously under-used, criminally mishandled, dismissively treated chef on television? Relegated to the circus of Iron Chef America, where--like a great, toothless lion, fouling his cage, he hangs on--and on--a major draw (and often the only reason to watch the show). How I would like to see him unchained, free to make the television shows he's capable of, the Real Mario--in all his Rabelasian brilliance. How I would love to hear the snapping bones of his cruel FN ringmasters, crunching between his mighty jaws! Let us see the cloven hooves beneath those cheery clogs! Let Mario be Mario!
THAT ACE OF CAKES GUY: Hey…He's got talent! And..he seems to be a trained chef! And he's really making food--and selling it in a real business! I think…I like it! If I have one reservation, it's that I have no idea if the stuff actually TASTES good. It LOOKS really creative and quirky--and I'm interested but…I mean...it's like construction going on over there from what we're told and shown. One suspects that the producers don't want to waste valuable time talking about anything so technical as food--on "Food" Network. I mean...what's in those cakes, beneath the icing and marzipan and fondant? That said, it's the only "kicky, new, cutting edge, in-your-face" hopeful they've managed to trot out of any quality in memory. Hope it lasts. Wait till they try and put the poor bastard on a pony--or do a "Tailgate Special" with the usual suspects. Or a "Thanksgiving Special" where he has to sit down with the bobbleheads and pretend to like it. On balance, it's still probably the best new project they've come up with in a long, long time.
GIADA: What's going on here!? Giada can actually cook! She was robbed in her bout versus Rachael Ray on ICA. ROBBED! And Food Net seems more interested in her enormous head (big head equals big ratings. Really!) and her cleavage--than the fact that she's likeable, knows what she's doing in an Italian kitchen--and makes food you'd actually want to eat. The new high concept Weekend Getaway show is a horrible, tired re-cap of the cheap-ass "Best Of" and "40 Dollar a Day" formula. Send host to empty restaurant. Watch them make crappy food for her. Have her take a few lonely, awkward stabs at the plate, then feign enjoyment with appropriately orgasmic eye-closing and moaning..Before spitting it out and rushing to the trailer. Send her to Italy and let her cook. She's good at it.
RACHAEL: Complain all you want. It's like railing against the pounding surf. She only grows stronger and more powerful. Her ear-shattering tones louder and louder. We KNOW she can't cook. She shrewdly tells us so. So...what is she selling us? Really? She's selling us satisfaction, the smug reassurance that mediocrity is quite enough. She's a friendly, familiar face who appears regularly on our screens to tell us that "Even your dumb, lazy ass can cook this!" Wallowing in your own crapulence on your Cheeto-littered couch you watch her and think, "Hell…I could do that. I ain't gonna…but I could--if I wanted! Now where's my damn jug a Diet Pepsi?" Where the saintly Julia Child sought to raise expectations, to enlighten us, make us better--teach us--and in fact, did, Rachael uses her strange and terrible powers to narcotize her public with her hypnotic mantra of Yummo and Evoo and Sammys. "You're doing just fine. You don't even have to chop an onion--you can buy it already chopped. Aspire to nothing…Just sit there. Have another Triscuit…Sleep….sleep…."
PAULA DEEN: I'm reluctant to bash what seems to be a nice old lady. Even if her supporting cast is beginning to look like the Hills Have Eyes--and her food a True Buffet of Horrors. A recent Hawaii show was indistinguishable from an early John Waters film. And the food on a par with the last scene of Pink Flamingos. But I'd like to see her mad. Like her look-alike, Divine in the classic, "Female Trouble." Paula Deen on a Baltimore Killing Spree would be something to see. Let her get Rachael in a headlock--and it's all over.
SANDRA LEE: Pure evil. This frightening Hell Spawn of Kathie Lee and Betty Crocker seems on a mission to kill her fans, one meal at a time. She Must Be Stopped. Her death-dealing can-opening ways will cut a swath of destruction through the world if not contained. I would likely be arrested if I suggested on television that any children watching should promptly go to a wooded area with a gun and harm themselves. What's the difference between that and Sandra suggesting we fill our mouths with Ritz Crackers, jam a can of Cheez Wiz in after and press hard? None that I can see. This is simply irresponsible programming. Its only possible use might be as a psychological warfare strategy against the resurgent Taliban--or dangerous insurgent groups. A large-racked blonde repeatedly urging Afghans and angry Iraqis to stuff themseles with fatty, processed American foods might be just the weapon we need to win the war on terror.
AND FINALLY: Some IRON CHEF AMERICA match-ups I'd REALLY like to see:
Mario Batali (with one arm tied behind his back--and drunk) vs. Regina Schrambling
Michael Ruhlman, swacked on Ripple, vs. John Mariani-- in a Charcuterie Challenge
Grant Achatz vs. That Guy In Australia Who Ripped off his recipes as his own
Marco Pierre White vs. Gordon Ramsay
Charlie Trotter vs. Martin Picard (Chicken Livers vs. Foie Gras)
Chris Cosentino, Fergus Henderson, Martin Picard vs. Alain Passard, Roxanne Klein and Charlie Trotter (Cooked vs. Raw Challenge)
Martha Stewart vs. Rachael Ray (bare knuckle cage match)
Ducasse vs. Robuchon
"Mikey" from Top Chef vs. Sandra Lee
Video Gold!
Jew for Jesus
Through the wonder that is the internet, I've come to realize that I'm obsessed with Jesus Christ; but not in the way one would think. I guess, specifically, I'm obsessed with images of Jesus - especially funny ones.
Having been raised a non-practicing Jew (aka "reformed"), I'm technically not even supposed to believe in Jesus (I'm not even sure if I really do). As I understand it, my people refuse to even acknowledge that he ever existed; I think they were mad that he didn't stay a carpenter, and that he came up with a more marketable (and consequently more popular) religion. I don't know the exact story behind it.
I haven't found anything Jewish on the internet that's even remotely as hilarious as some renderings of Jesus. But then again, the Jewish religion isn't the most uplifting (in an ironic twist, one of the only funny things about it is how depressing it is). Though some of the Jewish images I've found were a little bit funny, they paled in comparison to some of my favorite Jesus ones.
Here are a few good Jewish ones I was able to find:
Three images! That's it. In all of the internet, I couldn't find any other funny Jewish images.
And the Jesus pics totally trump them...
...and my all-time favorite:
With this kind of evidence, is it any wonder why the Jewish religion is in decline? For a religion that seems to churn out the best comedians, the Jews are really lacking in internet hilarity.
Having been raised a non-practicing Jew (aka "reformed"), I'm technically not even supposed to believe in Jesus (I'm not even sure if I really do). As I understand it, my people refuse to even acknowledge that he ever existed; I think they were mad that he didn't stay a carpenter, and that he came up with a more marketable (and consequently more popular) religion. I don't know the exact story behind it.
I haven't found anything Jewish on the internet that's even remotely as hilarious as some renderings of Jesus. But then again, the Jewish religion isn't the most uplifting (in an ironic twist, one of the only funny things about it is how depressing it is). Though some of the Jewish images I've found were a little bit funny, they paled in comparison to some of my favorite Jesus ones.
Here are a few good Jewish ones I was able to find:
Three images! That's it. In all of the internet, I couldn't find any other funny Jewish images.
And the Jesus pics totally trump them...
...and my all-time favorite:
With this kind of evidence, is it any wonder why the Jewish religion is in decline? For a religion that seems to churn out the best comedians, the Jews are really lacking in internet hilarity.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Radio Sweetheart
I have a confession to make:
I listen to the radio - ALL THE TIME. I probably listen to the radio more than I watch television.
And I'm not talking about just satellite radio (I'm a Sirius subscriber/advocate), but shitty, terrestrial radio too; except, I only listen to talk radio on the latter.I love the fact that something so simple can be so entertaining. In a culture where we're bombarded with visuals, radio is such a calming, refreshing escape from the outside world (I feel this way even when I'm listening to the news on WNYC).
As far back as I can remember, the radio was a Sunday afternoon staple in my family. No televisions were allowed on Sunday - only book reading or listening to public radio, or a classical music station. My parents weren't religious, or strict, or anything like that; but nonetheless, Sunday was the day for rest and radio.
As mentioned before, I still love radio, and with the technology available for the medium today, I'm surprised that more people don't listen to it. For example, podcasts - you can listen to your favorite radio show on demand; even listen to user-created shows. Lately, listening podcasts of archived radio shows has kind of become a nightly ritual for me.
Here are my top three favorite podcasted radio shows (can also be heard on WNYC):
1.) This American Life, hosted by Ira Glass - literary journalism (with some fiction mixed in) for the radio. The show touches on all types of themes like special ed, superpowers, pets, etc.
Some of my favorite "episodes" from this show include:
* The House by Loon Lake - a crazy true-life mystery about an abandoned house.
* Liars - various compiled true stories of compulsive liars
* Fiasco! - The Peter Pan play story is hilarious!
* Houses of Ill Repute - especially the story of the old man whose Brooklyn home is taken over by prostitutes
* With Great Power - esp. Shalom Auslander's story, "Waiting for Joe"
* pretty much anytime David Sedaris reads, TMBG performs/are interviewed, they play Mates of State songs, etc.
2.) Radiolab, hosted by Jad Abamrad and Robert Krulwich - who knew science could be so fun? Favorites episodes include:
* Placebo - the part about the "internal drugstore" is insane
* Detective stories
* Zoos - esp. the "live-feeding" zoos part
* Memory and Forgetting
3.) The Sound of Young America, hosted by Jesse Thorn (whom the title of the blog refers to) - I LOVE this show. It's basically just interviews with people in pop-culture who I actually want to hear about. Favorite shows include:
* The recent They Might Be Giants interview for their new album/25th anniversary
* Dave Willis (creator of Aqua Teen Hunger Force)
* Marty Krofft (puppeteer from HR Puff N Stuff and Land of the Lost)
* Zack Galifianakis (comedian and pianist)
* Holiday Special 2004 (with John Waters, Davy Rothbart, Christopher Moore, etc.)
* Episodes featuring Terry Jones and Terry Gilliam (of Monty Python)
* Episode with Art Spiegelman
I listen to the radio - ALL THE TIME. I probably listen to the radio more than I watch television.
And I'm not talking about just satellite radio (I'm a Sirius subscriber/advocate), but shitty, terrestrial radio too; except, I only listen to talk radio on the latter.I love the fact that something so simple can be so entertaining. In a culture where we're bombarded with visuals, radio is such a calming, refreshing escape from the outside world (I feel this way even when I'm listening to the news on WNYC).
As far back as I can remember, the radio was a Sunday afternoon staple in my family. No televisions were allowed on Sunday - only book reading or listening to public radio, or a classical music station. My parents weren't religious, or strict, or anything like that; but nonetheless, Sunday was the day for rest and radio.
As mentioned before, I still love radio, and with the technology available for the medium today, I'm surprised that more people don't listen to it. For example, podcasts - you can listen to your favorite radio show on demand; even listen to user-created shows. Lately, listening podcasts of archived radio shows has kind of become a nightly ritual for me.
Here are my top three favorite podcasted radio shows (can also be heard on WNYC):
1.) This American Life, hosted by Ira Glass - literary journalism (with some fiction mixed in) for the radio. The show touches on all types of themes like special ed, superpowers, pets, etc.
Some of my favorite "episodes" from this show include:
* The House by Loon Lake - a crazy true-life mystery about an abandoned house.
* Liars - various compiled true stories of compulsive liars
* Fiasco! - The Peter Pan play story is hilarious!
* Houses of Ill Repute - especially the story of the old man whose Brooklyn home is taken over by prostitutes
* With Great Power - esp. Shalom Auslander's story, "Waiting for Joe"
* pretty much anytime David Sedaris reads, TMBG performs/are interviewed, they play Mates of State songs, etc.
2.) Radiolab, hosted by Jad Abamrad and Robert Krulwich - who knew science could be so fun? Favorites episodes include:
* Placebo - the part about the "internal drugstore" is insane
* Detective stories
* Zoos - esp. the "live-feeding" zoos part
* Memory and Forgetting
3.) The Sound of Young America, hosted by Jesse Thorn (whom the title of the blog refers to) - I LOVE this show. It's basically just interviews with people in pop-culture who I actually want to hear about. Favorite shows include:
* The recent They Might Be Giants interview for their new album/25th anniversary
* Dave Willis (creator of Aqua Teen Hunger Force)
* Marty Krofft (puppeteer from HR Puff N Stuff and Land of the Lost)
* Zack Galifianakis (comedian and pianist)
* Holiday Special 2004 (with John Waters, Davy Rothbart, Christopher Moore, etc.)
* Episodes featuring Terry Jones and Terry Gilliam (of Monty Python)
* Episode with Art Spiegelman
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Mmmm...potato chips
This past weekend, a friend came home from a week-long vacation to visit her boyfriend's family in Canada. Being the awesome friend that she is, she brought me back food, because she knows what a gavone I am.
Canada maybe be extremely similar to America in the fact that we speak the same language (for the most part), watch the same television shows, and eat the same foods. So what, you might ask, was the big deal about getting food from Canada if it's no different from the food here in America??"
Answer: Canada has a far superior flavor of potato chip than we have here in America...Ruffles All Dressed Potato Chips.
These amazing chips have the same ridges and crunchy goodness of regular Ruffles potato chips, except they're "dressed" with every kind of potato chip spice imaginable - onion, garlic, ketchup, dill pickle, etc.
But the sad thing is that they have yet to bring these fantastic chips to the USA...even though it would probably be the only really good import from Canada (next to maple syrup and "You Can't Do That On Television").
Trying and enjoying these chips got me thinking: If chips come in a flavor like this, and I didn't even know about it, what other great chip flavors am I missing out on?!? I decided to hit Google and investigate. It turns out that there are TONS of flavored chips not available in this country that sound AWESOME...luckily though, some are available in America...just not where I live. So I've compiled a little list:
*Kettle Chips Cheddar Beer Flavored Potato Chips
The one kind of potato chip that can actually be found in my area. I tried these recently. AMAZING.
* Golden Flake Cheeseburger Flavored Potato Chips
Although they sound really gross, apparently these chips taste like a McDonald's cheeseburger (Mmmm). Unfortunately, they're only found in southern states like Tennessee and Alabama.
* Poore Brothers Steak and Onion Potato Chips
These are also only found in the southern United States.
* Dutch Crunch Kettle Cooked Roasted Pepper and Cream Cheese Chips
Only found in Canada
* Lays Smokey Bacon Potato Chips
Bacon is probably my favorite food. Ever. This might qualify as the greatest snack ever invented. But they only have it in Canada (damnit!).
* Humpty Dumpty Ball Park Hotdog Chips
It's probably gross. But I'd still like to try it. Another fantastic Canadian invention.
* Tayto Chips
From the United Kingdom. Boasts flavors such as Pickled Onion, Prawn Cocktail, and Roast Chicken
* Walker's Lamb and Mint Chips
From the UK. Gross.
*Brannigan's Roast Beef and Mustard Flavor Thick Cut Potato Crisps
Again, from the UK. Doesn't sound as bad as lamb and mint.
Asia had the strangest chip flavors:
* Cuttlefish Flavored Chips
* Hot Garlic Shrimp Flavored Chips
* Curry Flavored Potato Chips
* Crab Flavored Chips
* Onion Soup Chips
* Anchovy Flavored Chips
* Squid Flavored Chips
* Seaweed Tom Yom Goong Flavor Potato Chips
I don't know about squid or anchovy chips, but onion soup chips sound pretty good to me. I know Utz makes crab potato chips, but the kind listed above probably tastes fishy (the Utz kind is only sprinkled with Old Bay seasoning).
And as for Canada...well...next time they plan on importing something stupid to the US (like Celine Dion), they should definitely reconsider and just send over the bacon chips instead.
Canada maybe be extremely similar to America in the fact that we speak the same language (for the most part), watch the same television shows, and eat the same foods. So what, you might ask, was the big deal about getting food from Canada if it's no different from the food here in America??"
Answer: Canada has a far superior flavor of potato chip than we have here in America...Ruffles All Dressed Potato Chips.
These amazing chips have the same ridges and crunchy goodness of regular Ruffles potato chips, except they're "dressed" with every kind of potato chip spice imaginable - onion, garlic, ketchup, dill pickle, etc.
But the sad thing is that they have yet to bring these fantastic chips to the USA...even though it would probably be the only really good import from Canada (next to maple syrup and "You Can't Do That On Television").
Trying and enjoying these chips got me thinking: If chips come in a flavor like this, and I didn't even know about it, what other great chip flavors am I missing out on?!? I decided to hit Google and investigate. It turns out that there are TONS of flavored chips not available in this country that sound AWESOME...luckily though, some are available in America...just not where I live. So I've compiled a little list:
*Kettle Chips Cheddar Beer Flavored Potato Chips
The one kind of potato chip that can actually be found in my area. I tried these recently. AMAZING.
* Golden Flake Cheeseburger Flavored Potato Chips
Although they sound really gross, apparently these chips taste like a McDonald's cheeseburger (Mmmm). Unfortunately, they're only found in southern states like Tennessee and Alabama.
* Poore Brothers Steak and Onion Potato Chips
These are also only found in the southern United States.
* Dutch Crunch Kettle Cooked Roasted Pepper and Cream Cheese Chips
Only found in Canada
* Lays Smokey Bacon Potato Chips
Bacon is probably my favorite food. Ever. This might qualify as the greatest snack ever invented. But they only have it in Canada (damnit!).
* Humpty Dumpty Ball Park Hotdog Chips
It's probably gross. But I'd still like to try it. Another fantastic Canadian invention.
* Tayto Chips
From the United Kingdom. Boasts flavors such as Pickled Onion, Prawn Cocktail, and Roast Chicken
* Walker's Lamb and Mint Chips
From the UK. Gross.
*Brannigan's Roast Beef and Mustard Flavor Thick Cut Potato Crisps
Again, from the UK. Doesn't sound as bad as lamb and mint.
Asia had the strangest chip flavors:
* Cuttlefish Flavored Chips
* Hot Garlic Shrimp Flavored Chips
* Curry Flavored Potato Chips
* Crab Flavored Chips
* Onion Soup Chips
* Anchovy Flavored Chips
* Squid Flavored Chips
* Seaweed Tom Yom Goong Flavor Potato Chips
I don't know about squid or anchovy chips, but onion soup chips sound pretty good to me. I know Utz makes crab potato chips, but the kind listed above probably tastes fishy (the Utz kind is only sprinkled with Old Bay seasoning).
And as for Canada...well...next time they plan on importing something stupid to the US (like Celine Dion), they should definitely reconsider and just send over the bacon chips instead.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Let your freak flag fly
Most people go through life dreading they'll have a traumatic experience. Freaks were born with their trauma. They've already passed their test in life. They're aristocrats. - Diane Arbus
I don't know about everyone else, but I love a good "freak" attraction. Be it a two-headed cow (I'm obsessed with Siamese twins), sweaters made from human hair, or a pickled, deformed baby - if it's weird, I'm so there!
You see, for as long as I can remember, I've been fascinated by the weird and unexplainable, and my fascination has taken me to some of the weirdest sites like The Mutter Museum in Philadelphia (largest collection of Siamese twins on earth!), Ripley's Believe It or Not (the McDonald's of oddities), freak shows in Coney Island, etc.
Recently I came across the website, Roadside America: the Online Guide to Offbeat Tourist Attractions. Here, I learned that my current state of residence (CT) is not as boring as I thought - and I'm originally from New Jersey (a state so weird that we have our own magazine about how weird it is), so I'm kind of spoiled when it comes to strange attractions. In CT you can see such wonders as:
*The Barnum Museum, Bridgeport, CT - you can get a glimpse of the famous (and creepy) "Feejee Mermaid"here.
*A sight known as the "Vatican Gardens Knockoff," also in Bridgeport - it looks like it would be an awesome filming location.
*The Comic and Cartoon Museum, Cheshire, CT
*The Cursed Dudleytown Ghost Village, Cornwall, CT
*Joseph Steward's Hartford Museum, Hartford, CT - a museum of "curiosities," and taxidermy at it's finest.
*Holy Land USA, Waterbury, CT - my all-time favorite weird CT attraction. Described as: "Post-apocalyptic remnants of a religious theme park, featuring a mini-Jerusalem and the Catacombs death trap."
I encourage everyone to select their state on the Roadside America website and see what strange attractions are near you! You might be pretty surprised...
I don't know about everyone else, but I love a good "freak" attraction. Be it a two-headed cow (I'm obsessed with Siamese twins), sweaters made from human hair, or a pickled, deformed baby - if it's weird, I'm so there!
You see, for as long as I can remember, I've been fascinated by the weird and unexplainable, and my fascination has taken me to some of the weirdest sites like The Mutter Museum in Philadelphia (largest collection of Siamese twins on earth!), Ripley's Believe It or Not (the McDonald's of oddities), freak shows in Coney Island, etc.
Recently I came across the website, Roadside America: the Online Guide to Offbeat Tourist Attractions. Here, I learned that my current state of residence (CT) is not as boring as I thought - and I'm originally from New Jersey (a state so weird that we have our own magazine about how weird it is), so I'm kind of spoiled when it comes to strange attractions. In CT you can see such wonders as:
*The Barnum Museum, Bridgeport, CT - you can get a glimpse of the famous (and creepy) "Feejee Mermaid"here.
*A sight known as the "Vatican Gardens Knockoff," also in Bridgeport - it looks like it would be an awesome filming location.
*The Comic and Cartoon Museum, Cheshire, CT
*The Cursed Dudleytown Ghost Village, Cornwall, CT
*Joseph Steward's Hartford Museum, Hartford, CT - a museum of "curiosities," and taxidermy at it's finest.
*Holy Land USA, Waterbury, CT - my all-time favorite weird CT attraction. Described as: "Post-apocalyptic remnants of a religious theme park, featuring a mini-Jerusalem and the Catacombs death trap."
I encourage everyone to select their state on the Roadside America website and see what strange attractions are near you! You might be pretty surprised...
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Pets
First of all, someone needs to buy me THIS so that I can carry it around with me and leave it on people's kitchen floors.
Now that that's out of the way, on to the intended post...
Last week, my roommate's goldfish suffered a stroke (no pun intended) mid-swim. At least, we think it had a stroke. It started shaking violently, and then could only swim using the right side of its body. Being that goldfish are extremely fragile creatures, we knew that it didn't have long to live, and indeed, this weekend it finally died. Though I wasn't home, I understand that it was given a nice burial at sea.
To be honest, I was glad that I wasn't there for that.
For as long as I can remember, I've had this phobia of dead animals. It actually goes beyond the realm of sadness or disgust, and straight on to fear. In fact, I have these reoccurring nightmares in which I have to walk across a street...except this particular street is filled with road kill from sidewalk to sidewalk.
But even something as small as a dead goldfish is enough to just paralyze me.
When I heard that the fish had died, and my roommate disposed of it accordingly, I was relieved at that moment that I didn't own a fish. I would never have to decide what to do with a body (to flush, or bury?), or come home to find it floating at the top of the tank.
And then, I realized with both horror and dread: I own a hedgehog!! I suddenly felt envious of my roommate, that all she had to do was lift the fish out with a net (she didn't even have to touch it), drop it in the toilet and flush. But you can't flush a hedgehog. Can you?
Yes, I own a hedgehog. His name is Koosh, and I treat him not unlike how a parent would treat a child. Having been used to cats and dogs all my life, I never thought that a small animal could be affectionate or intelligent; nor did I ever think that a small animal could become any sort of companion in the same way a cat or dog can. Koosh defied all of my expectations of a small animal. He was smart enough to be litter trained just like a cat; he accompanies me on long drives, quietly relaxing in a blanket on the passenger seat. He even curls up right next to me whenever I take a nap in the afternoon. And yes, he wears hats.
He's such a big part of my life, and I can't imagine life without him. The unfortunate side to this, is that I know that know one day I will have to live without him, as a domestic hedgehog's lifespan is only 4-7 years. Right now he's almost 2.
Anyway, this brush with death got me thinking about what is going to happen when Koosh dies.
So I did some research to see what other pet owners do when their pets die (how to dispose of it, do you take it to the vet, bury it etc.).
What I found was incredibly disturbing. At least to me.
Somehow, I came across a site for taxidermy (the site linked at the very beginning of this post), which featured a winged kitten. I was both horrified and fascinated at the same time. For some reason, my phobia of dead animals does not extend to taxidermy. Although I think I would be physically sick if I ever had to touch a taxidermied animal, it's something I've had a weird interested in ever since my dad first took me to the Museum of Natural History. I remember being 4 years old, and gazing in wonder at the dioramas. When my dad told me that there were real animals in there, I was absolutely amazed.
So on this particular website, I saw that they did price quotes for "pet freezing." Freezing? I had no idea what they were talking about. So I googled it. Apparently what I was looking for was "freeze drying" - a process in which all of the water is slowly removed from a dead body in order to perfectly preserve it. People actually do this to their deceased pets. They actually spend hundreds of dollars to do it too.
I suppose a small part of me understands why people would do this. But only a really small teeny-tiny fraction of me. The other, much larger part thinks this is completely insane. I wonder if these people would even use this process on dead relatives if they could. I thought taxidermy used as trophies or gaffs was pushing it slightly, but taxidermied animals that bear an emotional attachment is just too much for me.
On the freeze drying website above (petpreservations.com), I noticed that some customers had sent pictures and stories about their decision to have their "friends" freeze dried. One story in particular - the story of Suggie - touched me the most (or at least the beginning of it did. It tends to get more insane as it goes along). It was so sweet and sad. It even made me tear up a little bit. I totally understand what it's like to love an animal that much and to feel the need to see them or hold them again. I think that losing a pet is harder than losing a person in some ways. I've unfortunately experienced both instances, and while they are both sad, it's extremely disheartening to me that pets never understand what's happening to them, especially when they're put to sleep. Despite how traumatizing and truly upsetting losing a pet can be, I feel that the pain you feel in the end is somehow worth the time spent with an animal who was that special to you. In all my years of pet ownership, I've realized that no one except pets are able to love so unconditionally. They don't judge...they just love. Sadly, I know that I'll inevitably lose Koosh one day to illness or old age, and the loss will be profoundly felt, as he holds such a special place in my heart.
But it's a comfort to know, that although I will be sad, I won't necessarily have to miss him - as long as I have enough money, and a large enough mantle over the fireplace, I can have him freeze dried and prominently displayed in my home. Forever.
Well, that's all for today. Now I'm going to go do some research on how or where I can get me a pet raccoon!
Now that that's out of the way, on to the intended post...
Last week, my roommate's goldfish suffered a stroke (no pun intended) mid-swim. At least, we think it had a stroke. It started shaking violently, and then could only swim using the right side of its body. Being that goldfish are extremely fragile creatures, we knew that it didn't have long to live, and indeed, this weekend it finally died. Though I wasn't home, I understand that it was given a nice burial at sea.
To be honest, I was glad that I wasn't there for that.
For as long as I can remember, I've had this phobia of dead animals. It actually goes beyond the realm of sadness or disgust, and straight on to fear. In fact, I have these reoccurring nightmares in which I have to walk across a street...except this particular street is filled with road kill from sidewalk to sidewalk.
But even something as small as a dead goldfish is enough to just paralyze me.
When I heard that the fish had died, and my roommate disposed of it accordingly, I was relieved at that moment that I didn't own a fish. I would never have to decide what to do with a body (to flush, or bury?), or come home to find it floating at the top of the tank.
And then, I realized with both horror and dread: I own a hedgehog!! I suddenly felt envious of my roommate, that all she had to do was lift the fish out with a net (she didn't even have to touch it), drop it in the toilet and flush. But you can't flush a hedgehog. Can you?
Yes, I own a hedgehog. His name is Koosh, and I treat him not unlike how a parent would treat a child. Having been used to cats and dogs all my life, I never thought that a small animal could be affectionate or intelligent; nor did I ever think that a small animal could become any sort of companion in the same way a cat or dog can. Koosh defied all of my expectations of a small animal. He was smart enough to be litter trained just like a cat; he accompanies me on long drives, quietly relaxing in a blanket on the passenger seat. He even curls up right next to me whenever I take a nap in the afternoon. And yes, he wears hats.
He's such a big part of my life, and I can't imagine life without him. The unfortunate side to this, is that I know that know one day I will have to live without him, as a domestic hedgehog's lifespan is only 4-7 years. Right now he's almost 2.
Anyway, this brush with death got me thinking about what is going to happen when Koosh dies.
So I did some research to see what other pet owners do when their pets die (how to dispose of it, do you take it to the vet, bury it etc.).
What I found was incredibly disturbing. At least to me.
Somehow, I came across a site for taxidermy (the site linked at the very beginning of this post), which featured a winged kitten. I was both horrified and fascinated at the same time. For some reason, my phobia of dead animals does not extend to taxidermy. Although I think I would be physically sick if I ever had to touch a taxidermied animal, it's something I've had a weird interested in ever since my dad first took me to the Museum of Natural History. I remember being 4 years old, and gazing in wonder at the dioramas. When my dad told me that there were real animals in there, I was absolutely amazed.
So on this particular website, I saw that they did price quotes for "pet freezing." Freezing? I had no idea what they were talking about. So I googled it. Apparently what I was looking for was "freeze drying" - a process in which all of the water is slowly removed from a dead body in order to perfectly preserve it. People actually do this to their deceased pets. They actually spend hundreds of dollars to do it too.
I suppose a small part of me understands why people would do this. But only a really small teeny-tiny fraction of me. The other, much larger part thinks this is completely insane. I wonder if these people would even use this process on dead relatives if they could. I thought taxidermy used as trophies or gaffs was pushing it slightly, but taxidermied animals that bear an emotional attachment is just too much for me.
On the freeze drying website above (petpreservations.com), I noticed that some customers had sent pictures and stories about their decision to have their "friends" freeze dried. One story in particular - the story of Suggie - touched me the most (or at least the beginning of it did. It tends to get more insane as it goes along). It was so sweet and sad. It even made me tear up a little bit. I totally understand what it's like to love an animal that much and to feel the need to see them or hold them again. I think that losing a pet is harder than losing a person in some ways. I've unfortunately experienced both instances, and while they are both sad, it's extremely disheartening to me that pets never understand what's happening to them, especially when they're put to sleep. Despite how traumatizing and truly upsetting losing a pet can be, I feel that the pain you feel in the end is somehow worth the time spent with an animal who was that special to you. In all my years of pet ownership, I've realized that no one except pets are able to love so unconditionally. They don't judge...they just love. Sadly, I know that I'll inevitably lose Koosh one day to illness or old age, and the loss will be profoundly felt, as he holds such a special place in my heart.
But it's a comfort to know, that although I will be sad, I won't necessarily have to miss him - as long as I have enough money, and a large enough mantle over the fireplace, I can have him freeze dried and prominently displayed in my home. Forever.
Well, that's all for today. Now I'm going to go do some research on how or where I can get me a pet raccoon!
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Sicko
"I'm an eye. A mechanical eye. I, the machine, show you a world the way only I can see it. I free myself for today and forever from human immobility. I'm in constant movement. I approach and pull away from objects. I creep under them. I move alongside a running horse's mouth. I fall and rise with the falling and rising bodies. This is I, the machine, manoeuvring in the chaotic movements, recording one movement after another in the most complex combinations.Freed from the boundaries of time and space. I co-ordinate any and all points of the universe, wherever I want them to be. My way leads towards the creation of a fresh perception of the world. Thus I explain in a new way the world unknown to you." - Dziga Vertov, 1932
This past Sunday I accompanied my boyfriend to see Michael Moore's new film, Sicko, a "documentary" on the shortcomings of the American health care system. Before going to the theatre, I had already braced myself to see a signature Michael Moore film: extreme leftist views, wry humor, drama and partial facts that serve his purpose only (they're not meant solely to inform, but to gain the viewers support of his cause).
While he was extremely accurate in his portrayal of how the American health care system differs with foreign ones (French, Cuban, Canadian and British) financially - health care has been nationalized, and is therefore free - he failed to show the quality of care that people in these countries have. As Americans, we may be paying up the ass for health care, but we're paying for convenience, efficiency, and quality.
What really upset me was that he did not document one of the most important subjects in this issue: American doctors. There's this idea in this country that doctors rip people off and make tons of money. While doctors do tend to make larger salaries than much of the American population, some doctors just make enough to live comfortably. My dad is one of these doctors.
When my mother died, my father suddenly became a single parent to a 16-year-old, and a 7-year-old. Knowing that children of these ages should not be left alone at home all evening after school, my dad cut his work hours dramatically, eventually to the point of not accepting new patients. This resulted in a much lower salary. When I started college, my father - for the first time in his life - had to start living paycheck to paycheck in order to pay for my schooling (and to save for my brother's).
The field of medicine is not what it used to be either. My dad can remember a time where people didn't sue for every little thing, and when insurance companies didn't charge so much; it's becoming almost impossible to be a doctor these days. Though my dad is still very much interested in what he does, and gets great satisfaction from helping people, he no longer loves it, and lives for the day that he's able to retire.
He's recently told me that when he retires, he plans on joining Doctors Without Borders. He's always been interested in travelling to other countries (something that he's been unable to do with the crazy schedule he works), but his main reason for going is the people he hopes to help . "People like that actually appreciate the care they're given. Americans just aren't like that," he said me, "in this country, we feel entitled to everything and take things for granted."
I agree that there needs to be some sort of change in how our health care system is run, and I also agree that everyone should be able to receive health care no matter what their economic background. Unfortunately, the American health care system - much like America itself - is run as a business and only stands to benefit the upper tier of society.
This past Sunday I accompanied my boyfriend to see Michael Moore's new film, Sicko, a "documentary" on the shortcomings of the American health care system. Before going to the theatre, I had already braced myself to see a signature Michael Moore film: extreme leftist views, wry humor, drama and partial facts that serve his purpose only (they're not meant solely to inform, but to gain the viewers support of his cause).
While he was extremely accurate in his portrayal of how the American health care system differs with foreign ones (French, Cuban, Canadian and British) financially - health care has been nationalized, and is therefore free - he failed to show the quality of care that people in these countries have. As Americans, we may be paying up the ass for health care, but we're paying for convenience, efficiency, and quality.
What really upset me was that he did not document one of the most important subjects in this issue: American doctors. There's this idea in this country that doctors rip people off and make tons of money. While doctors do tend to make larger salaries than much of the American population, some doctors just make enough to live comfortably. My dad is one of these doctors.
When my mother died, my father suddenly became a single parent to a 16-year-old, and a 7-year-old. Knowing that children of these ages should not be left alone at home all evening after school, my dad cut his work hours dramatically, eventually to the point of not accepting new patients. This resulted in a much lower salary. When I started college, my father - for the first time in his life - had to start living paycheck to paycheck in order to pay for my schooling (and to save for my brother's).
The field of medicine is not what it used to be either. My dad can remember a time where people didn't sue for every little thing, and when insurance companies didn't charge so much; it's becoming almost impossible to be a doctor these days. Though my dad is still very much interested in what he does, and gets great satisfaction from helping people, he no longer loves it, and lives for the day that he's able to retire.
He's recently told me that when he retires, he plans on joining Doctors Without Borders. He's always been interested in travelling to other countries (something that he's been unable to do with the crazy schedule he works), but his main reason for going is the people he hopes to help . "People like that actually appreciate the care they're given. Americans just aren't like that," he said me, "in this country, we feel entitled to everything and take things for granted."
I agree that there needs to be some sort of change in how our health care system is run, and I also agree that everyone should be able to receive health care no matter what their economic background. Unfortunately, the American health care system - much like America itself - is run as a business and only stands to benefit the upper tier of society.
I know that the majority of this entry is not written by me, and the theme is a little morose, but it's such a great bit of poignant dramatic writing that I just had to share...
One of the best plays (if not the best) that I have ever seen in my life is "The Pillowman" by Martin McDonagh. I won't give away the plot here, but the title refers to a story told by the protagonist of the play. Here is that story:
Katurian: Once upon a time...there was a man, who did not look like normal men. He was about nine feet tall...And he was all made up of these fluffy pink pillows: his arms were pillows and his legs were pillows and his body was a pillow; his fingers were tiny little pillows, even his head was a pillow, a big round pillow...And on his head he had two button eyes and a big smiley mouth which was always smiling, so you could always see his teeth, which were also pillows. Little white pillows...Well, the Pillowman had to look like this, he had to look soft and safe, because of his job, because his job was a very sad and a very difficult one...Whenever a man or a lady was very very sad because they'd had a dreadful and hard life and they just wanted to end it all, they just wanted to take their own lives and take all the pain away, well, just as they were about to do it, by razor, or by bullet, or by gas...By whatever preferred method of suicide - 'preferred' is probably the wrong word, but anyway, just as that person was about to do it, the Pillowman would go to them, and sit with them, and gently hold them, and he'd say, 'Hold on a minute,' and time would slow strangely, and as time slowed, the Pillowman would go back in time to when that man or that lady was just a little boy or a little girl, to when the life of horror they were to lead hadn't quite yet begun, and the Pillowman's job was very very sad, because the Pillowman's job was to get that child to kill themselves, and so avoid the years of pain that would just end up in the same place for them anyway: facing an over, facing a shotgun, facing a lake. 'But I've never heard of a small child killing themselves,' you might say. Well, the Pillowman would always suggest they do it in a way that would just look like a tragic accident: he's show them the bottle of pills that looked just like sweeties; he'd show them the place on the river where the ice was too thin; he'd show them the parked cars that it was really dangerous for them to dart out in between; he'd show them the plastic bag with no breathing holes, and exactly how to tighten it. Because mommies and daddies always find it easier to come to terms with a five-year-old lost in a tragic accident than they do with a five-year-old who has seen how shitty life is and taken action to avoid it. Now, not all the children would go along with the Pillowman. There was one little girl, a happy little thing, who just wouldn't believe the Pillowman when he told her that life could be awful and her life would be, and she sent him away, and he went away crying, crying big gloopy tears that made puddles this big, and the next night there was another knock on her bedroom door, and she said, 'Go away, Pillowman. I've told you, I'm happy. I've always been happy and I'll always be happy.' But it wasn't the Pillowman. It was another man. And her mommy wasn't home, and this man would visit her every time her mommy wasn't home, and she soon became very very sad, and as she sat in front of the oven when she was twenty-one she said to the Pillowman, 'Why didn't you try to convince me?' And the Pillowman said, 'I tried to convince you, but you were just too happy.' And as she turned on the gas as high as it would go she said, 'But I've never been happy. I've never been happy...' Well... the end of the Pillowman...See, when the Pillowman was successful in his work, a little child would die horrifically. And when the Pillowman was unsuccessful, a little child would have a horrific life, grow into an adult who'd also have a horrific life, and then die horrifically. So, the Pillowman, as big as he was and as fluffy as he was, he'd just go around crying all day long, his house'd be just puddles everywhere, so he decided to do just one final job and that'd be it. So he went to this place beside this pretty stream that he remembered from a time before...And he brought a little can of petrol with him, and there was this old weeping willow tree there, and he went under it and he sat and he waited there a while, and there were all these little toys under there...Anyway, there was a little caravan nearby, and the Pillowman heard the door open and little footsteps comeout, and he heard a boy's voice say, 'I'm just going out to play, Mom,' and the Mom said, 'Well, don't be late for your tea, son.' 'I won't be, Mom.' And the Pillowman heard the little footsteps get closer and the branches of the willow tree parted and it wasn't a little boy at all, it was a little Pillowboy. And the Pillowboy said, 'Hello,' to the Pillowman, and the Pillowman said, 'Hello,' to the Pillowboy, and they both played with the toys for a while...and the Pillowman told him all about his sad job and the dead kids and all of that type of stuff, and the little Pillowboy understood instantly 'cos he was such a happy little fella and all he ever wanted to do was to be able to help people, and he poured the can of petrol all over himself and his smiley mouth was still smiling, and the Pillowman through his gloopy tears, said, 'Thank you,' to the Pillowboy, and the Pillowboy said, 'That's alright. Will you tell my mommy I won't be having my tea tonight.' and the Pillowman said, 'Yes, I will,' lying, and the Pillowboy struck a match,and the Pillowman sat there watching him burn, and as the Pillowman gently started to fade away, the last thing he saw was the Pillowboy's happy smiley mouth as it slowly melted away, sinking into nothingness. The last thing he heard was the screams of the hundred thousand children he'd helped to commit suicide coming back to life and going on to lead the cold, wretched lives that were destined to them because he hadn't been around to prevent them, right up to the screams of their sad self-inflicted deaths,which this time, of course, would be conducted entirely alone.
One of the best plays (if not the best) that I have ever seen in my life is "The Pillowman" by Martin McDonagh. I won't give away the plot here, but the title refers to a story told by the protagonist of the play. Here is that story:
Katurian: Once upon a time...there was a man, who did not look like normal men. He was about nine feet tall...And he was all made up of these fluffy pink pillows: his arms were pillows and his legs were pillows and his body was a pillow; his fingers were tiny little pillows, even his head was a pillow, a big round pillow...And on his head he had two button eyes and a big smiley mouth which was always smiling, so you could always see his teeth, which were also pillows. Little white pillows...Well, the Pillowman had to look like this, he had to look soft and safe, because of his job, because his job was a very sad and a very difficult one...Whenever a man or a lady was very very sad because they'd had a dreadful and hard life and they just wanted to end it all, they just wanted to take their own lives and take all the pain away, well, just as they were about to do it, by razor, or by bullet, or by gas...By whatever preferred method of suicide - 'preferred' is probably the wrong word, but anyway, just as that person was about to do it, the Pillowman would go to them, and sit with them, and gently hold them, and he'd say, 'Hold on a minute,' and time would slow strangely, and as time slowed, the Pillowman would go back in time to when that man or that lady was just a little boy or a little girl, to when the life of horror they were to lead hadn't quite yet begun, and the Pillowman's job was very very sad, because the Pillowman's job was to get that child to kill themselves, and so avoid the years of pain that would just end up in the same place for them anyway: facing an over, facing a shotgun, facing a lake. 'But I've never heard of a small child killing themselves,' you might say. Well, the Pillowman would always suggest they do it in a way that would just look like a tragic accident: he's show them the bottle of pills that looked just like sweeties; he'd show them the place on the river where the ice was too thin; he'd show them the parked cars that it was really dangerous for them to dart out in between; he'd show them the plastic bag with no breathing holes, and exactly how to tighten it. Because mommies and daddies always find it easier to come to terms with a five-year-old lost in a tragic accident than they do with a five-year-old who has seen how shitty life is and taken action to avoid it. Now, not all the children would go along with the Pillowman. There was one little girl, a happy little thing, who just wouldn't believe the Pillowman when he told her that life could be awful and her life would be, and she sent him away, and he went away crying, crying big gloopy tears that made puddles this big, and the next night there was another knock on her bedroom door, and she said, 'Go away, Pillowman. I've told you, I'm happy. I've always been happy and I'll always be happy.' But it wasn't the Pillowman. It was another man. And her mommy wasn't home, and this man would visit her every time her mommy wasn't home, and she soon became very very sad, and as she sat in front of the oven when she was twenty-one she said to the Pillowman, 'Why didn't you try to convince me?' And the Pillowman said, 'I tried to convince you, but you were just too happy.' And as she turned on the gas as high as it would go she said, 'But I've never been happy. I've never been happy...' Well... the end of the Pillowman...See, when the Pillowman was successful in his work, a little child would die horrifically. And when the Pillowman was unsuccessful, a little child would have a horrific life, grow into an adult who'd also have a horrific life, and then die horrifically. So, the Pillowman, as big as he was and as fluffy as he was, he'd just go around crying all day long, his house'd be just puddles everywhere, so he decided to do just one final job and that'd be it. So he went to this place beside this pretty stream that he remembered from a time before...And he brought a little can of petrol with him, and there was this old weeping willow tree there, and he went under it and he sat and he waited there a while, and there were all these little toys under there...Anyway, there was a little caravan nearby, and the Pillowman heard the door open and little footsteps comeout, and he heard a boy's voice say, 'I'm just going out to play, Mom,' and the Mom said, 'Well, don't be late for your tea, son.' 'I won't be, Mom.' And the Pillowman heard the little footsteps get closer and the branches of the willow tree parted and it wasn't a little boy at all, it was a little Pillowboy. And the Pillowboy said, 'Hello,' to the Pillowman, and the Pillowman said, 'Hello,' to the Pillowboy, and they both played with the toys for a while...and the Pillowman told him all about his sad job and the dead kids and all of that type of stuff, and the little Pillowboy understood instantly 'cos he was such a happy little fella and all he ever wanted to do was to be able to help people, and he poured the can of petrol all over himself and his smiley mouth was still smiling, and the Pillowman through his gloopy tears, said, 'Thank you,' to the Pillowboy, and the Pillowboy said, 'That's alright. Will you tell my mommy I won't be having my tea tonight.' and the Pillowman said, 'Yes, I will,' lying, and the Pillowboy struck a match,and the Pillowman sat there watching him burn, and as the Pillowman gently started to fade away, the last thing he saw was the Pillowboy's happy smiley mouth as it slowly melted away, sinking into nothingness. The last thing he heard was the screams of the hundred thousand children he'd helped to commit suicide coming back to life and going on to lead the cold, wretched lives that were destined to them because he hadn't been around to prevent them, right up to the screams of their sad self-inflicted deaths,which this time, of course, would be conducted entirely alone.
Sunday, July 8, 2007
On Fame
"What is fame? The advantage of being known by people of whom you yourself know nothing, and for whom you care as little." - Lord Byron
I blame my friends. I blame my family. And most of all, I blame my boyfriend for my recent brush with "fame," or rather, for not preventing it. The names of the people involved have been omitted to protect me from humiliation.
A couple of months ago, I went to the city with a bunch of girlfriends to go to a comedy club that we frequent on weekends. We'd seen and met dozens of celebrities and famous comedians while hanging out here; we went there so much, in fact, that one of the regular performers - an old wash-up riding on his glory days at SNL - remembered all of us by name each time he saw us there.
On this particular night, the wash-up was scheduled to perform, along with several unknowns, and one semi-famous comedian who'd had a successful show on Comedy Central for several years. The semi-famous comedian brought the house down with his raunchy sex jokes, the ability to off-handedly shame any audience member who dared to heckle him, and his scathing commentary on recent events (example: he was performing the week that Don Imus was fired; his comment to Imus: "Just because you look like Thomas Jefferson, doesn't mean that you're allowed to talk like him). He was definitely the audience favorite of the night, and I have to admit, I too was a fan. Back when I first started college, I remember watching his television show late at night with friends.
After the show let out, my friends and I went to the bar next door to get drinks and hang out for a while. While waiting to get the bartender's attention, I noticed a figure sidle up next to me. When I looked in that direction, I saw that it was the semi-famous comedian.
He then commenced to speak to me; names were exchanged (even though I already knew his name), and such information as where I'm from, and "what I do."
As the time neared 1AM, I told him I had to go to catch the next train home (why on earth does the metro north close at 2am on weekends??). He then asked me, "would it be out of line if I asked for your number?"
Maybe it was the fact that I'd been drinking. Maybe I just wanted to impress my friends. Either way, beyond my better judgement, I gave him my phone number.
Over the next few weeks, I recieved many relentless phone calls, begging me to come to the city, to hang out, to get drinks, etc. After consulting my boyfriend, and actually being given permission by him to hang out with this guy, I returned his most recent phone call and set up a date.
We met at a park in midtown in the afternoon. He was hungover (this is part of his persona as a comedian). We got some grapefruit juice, sat down, and proceded to talk for about 2 hours.
I learned about his low self-esteem (no matter what people say, he doesn't think he's a good comedian), his strange family (including his brother's mail-order bride), and the reason why he's not married (the alcohol had something to do with it). The whole experience was really strange and surreal. It was like hanging out with a drunk, creepy uncle who'd hit on me from time to time. It was very unsettling.
The one thing that really struck me about this meeting was the fact that he kept getting recognized. People would just come up to him and start talking to him (even though he was clearly busy) like they knew him. And as I sat there, not one of them even looked at me. To them I was a nobody. It was really strange to be completly ignored like that. I just didn't exist to anyone.
And then I wondered what it was like for him. To have people you've never seen before call you by your name. How weird it must be to have someone talk to you like they know you. How does one respond to something like that?
He greeted these people nicely, and then not so subtlely hinted to them that it was now time for them to step away.
I never saw him again after that. He'd been busy in the next couple of months following our "date," filming a special for HBO, and touring. I'd get the occasional e-mail from him. My friends saw him about 2 weeks ago at the very bar that I'd met him at. He came up to them, I guess recognized them, and proceded to ask them questions about me. Even though I was pretty creeped out by the whole experience, I was pretty flattered that I had had an effect on this person's life. Even though he meets tons of people everyday, I'm the one he remembers.
I blame my friends. I blame my family. And most of all, I blame my boyfriend for my recent brush with "fame," or rather, for not preventing it. The names of the people involved have been omitted to protect me from humiliation.
A couple of months ago, I went to the city with a bunch of girlfriends to go to a comedy club that we frequent on weekends. We'd seen and met dozens of celebrities and famous comedians while hanging out here; we went there so much, in fact, that one of the regular performers - an old wash-up riding on his glory days at SNL - remembered all of us by name each time he saw us there.
On this particular night, the wash-up was scheduled to perform, along with several unknowns, and one semi-famous comedian who'd had a successful show on Comedy Central for several years. The semi-famous comedian brought the house down with his raunchy sex jokes, the ability to off-handedly shame any audience member who dared to heckle him, and his scathing commentary on recent events (example: he was performing the week that Don Imus was fired; his comment to Imus: "Just because you look like Thomas Jefferson, doesn't mean that you're allowed to talk like him). He was definitely the audience favorite of the night, and I have to admit, I too was a fan. Back when I first started college, I remember watching his television show late at night with friends.
After the show let out, my friends and I went to the bar next door to get drinks and hang out for a while. While waiting to get the bartender's attention, I noticed a figure sidle up next to me. When I looked in that direction, I saw that it was the semi-famous comedian.
He then commenced to speak to me; names were exchanged (even though I already knew his name), and such information as where I'm from, and "what I do."
As the time neared 1AM, I told him I had to go to catch the next train home (why on earth does the metro north close at 2am on weekends??). He then asked me, "would it be out of line if I asked for your number?"
Maybe it was the fact that I'd been drinking. Maybe I just wanted to impress my friends. Either way, beyond my better judgement, I gave him my phone number.
Over the next few weeks, I recieved many relentless phone calls, begging me to come to the city, to hang out, to get drinks, etc. After consulting my boyfriend, and actually being given permission by him to hang out with this guy, I returned his most recent phone call and set up a date.
We met at a park in midtown in the afternoon. He was hungover (this is part of his persona as a comedian). We got some grapefruit juice, sat down, and proceded to talk for about 2 hours.
I learned about his low self-esteem (no matter what people say, he doesn't think he's a good comedian), his strange family (including his brother's mail-order bride), and the reason why he's not married (the alcohol had something to do with it). The whole experience was really strange and surreal. It was like hanging out with a drunk, creepy uncle who'd hit on me from time to time. It was very unsettling.
The one thing that really struck me about this meeting was the fact that he kept getting recognized. People would just come up to him and start talking to him (even though he was clearly busy) like they knew him. And as I sat there, not one of them even looked at me. To them I was a nobody. It was really strange to be completly ignored like that. I just didn't exist to anyone.
And then I wondered what it was like for him. To have people you've never seen before call you by your name. How weird it must be to have someone talk to you like they know you. How does one respond to something like that?
He greeted these people nicely, and then not so subtlely hinted to them that it was now time for them to step away.
I never saw him again after that. He'd been busy in the next couple of months following our "date," filming a special for HBO, and touring. I'd get the occasional e-mail from him. My friends saw him about 2 weeks ago at the very bar that I'd met him at. He came up to them, I guess recognized them, and proceded to ask them questions about me. Even though I was pretty creeped out by the whole experience, I was pretty flattered that I had had an effect on this person's life. Even though he meets tons of people everyday, I'm the one he remembers.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
Journalism and the Issue of Objectivity
"The corporate grip on opinion in the United States is one of the wonders of the western world. No First World country has ever managed to eliminate so entirely from its media all objectivity..." - Gore Vidal
Whether or not it is clear to most people, America - just like any journalistic publication - is run as a business. When reading any sort of recent journalistic publication (or even watching the news on TV), it is not difficult to see that there is an agenda behind it, and the nature of that agenda is not neccessarily just to inform an audience. Truth no longer seems to be the ultimate goal of journalism in this country, but rather gaining a readership, swaying the opinions of the masses, etc. Apparently, objectivity and truth aren't entertaining enough to the American public; that's not what sells.
This past week, I looked at two different news sources from two different countries: CNN.com and BBC.com. Without even reading the stories, I noticed immediate differences in the same stories being covered (7/4/07):
"6 Canadian soldiers slain in Afghanistan (US)" vs. "Afghan bomb kills 6 Canadians (UK)"
"Missing lake was swallowed by crack (US)" vs. "Warming 'made lake vanish' (UK)"
...and so on.
The US news source dictates the facts to give emotional leverage, which in turn sways the audience's opinions and increases circulation (or the amount of "hits" on its website). Words like "slain" give emotional appeal to a headline; and if "global warming" wasn't an already benign enough term to describe what's happening to our fragile planet, how about denying it all together (a "CRACK?!")? And this is supposedly a more liberal and objective news source in this country.
But it's so easy to point fingers. Sometimes it seems like the liberals aren't any better than the conservatives.
Whether or not it is clear to most people, America - just like any journalistic publication - is run as a business. When reading any sort of recent journalistic publication (or even watching the news on TV), it is not difficult to see that there is an agenda behind it, and the nature of that agenda is not neccessarily just to inform an audience. Truth no longer seems to be the ultimate goal of journalism in this country, but rather gaining a readership, swaying the opinions of the masses, etc. Apparently, objectivity and truth aren't entertaining enough to the American public; that's not what sells.
This past week, I looked at two different news sources from two different countries: CNN.com and BBC.com. Without even reading the stories, I noticed immediate differences in the same stories being covered (7/4/07):
"6 Canadian soldiers slain in Afghanistan (US)" vs. "Afghan bomb kills 6 Canadians (UK)"
"Missing lake was swallowed by crack (US)" vs. "Warming 'made lake vanish' (UK)"
...and so on.
The US news source dictates the facts to give emotional leverage, which in turn sways the audience's opinions and increases circulation (or the amount of "hits" on its website). Words like "slain" give emotional appeal to a headline; and if "global warming" wasn't an already benign enough term to describe what's happening to our fragile planet, how about denying it all together (a "CRACK?!")? And this is supposedly a more liberal and objective news source in this country.
But it's so easy to point fingers. Sometimes it seems like the liberals aren't any better than the conservatives.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Blog #1 - How I Spent My Summer Vacation....in School
Starting from the moment that I could make any objections (probably around 18 months old), my father has repeatedly told me, "Erin, there are always going to be things in life that you don't want to do, but you just have to do them." And so it is with this statement in mind that I've come to take Writing for the Media - a requirement for graduating communications majors at Manhattanville College.
My academic background can be describe in one word: non-linear.
I started college back in September 2001 (yes, that September) at Massachusetts College of Art in Boston, MA. I was a declared sculpture major with dreams of doing special effects makeup and prosthetics for film and television; my goal since the age of 5 was to work for Jim Henson Productions/Creature Shop. Unfortunately, art school was not at all what I had anticipated it to be. Expecting to do mostly figure sculpture and casting moulds, I was forced into compromising my work to fit into the "art world" - which at the time (and still today) is mostly interested in conceptual work (a real example from one of the students in my class: taking a dump in a paper bag, covering it in honey, and telling the class a story of how it relates to her childhood).
Additionally, as I became more involved in my field, it started to become apparent to me that the FX makeup industry was becoming more and more obsolete, as computer animation/CGI became more advanced.
After having to re-evaluate my entire education (and my dreams), I decided to go into film; but while I was interested in the production aspect, I was more interested in the analysis and criticism of film. This meant that I was not only at the wrong school, but also in the wrong part of the country. Surprisingly, instead of telling me to just "stick it out," my father said, "maybe you should consider transferring."
I don't really know how I found Manhattanville College. I just know that I was accepted, offered a scholarship (beyond all reason), it was close to NYC, and they offered film courses. I think it was the fact that they had a castle on campus that really swayed my decision. That, and I was told that I didn't have to take any classes involving math. Nonetheless, I embarked on a new phase in my life, which included living on a real campus and writing papers for the first time since high school. It was a bit of a culture and academic shock for me, so I decided to take some time off ("some time" turned out to be a year-and-a-half). I re-enrolled in 2005, and haven't looked back.
The rest, as they say, is history.
Upon graduating, I don't plan on working - at least not right away. For the past twenty-five years, I've lived a very comfortable and privileged existance, and while I fully appreciate every opportunity that I've been given in life, I feel very compelled (almost guiltily so) to give back. That's why I plan on working/volunteering in Africa for AIDS/HIV-related issues (either in Kenya, Sudan, Ethiopia, South Africa, or Ghana) right after I graduate. I have plenty of time in my life to work in America and earn money and support myself, but I anticipate the intrinsic value coupled with the experience of helping people (who really appreciate it and need it) far outweighs the former.
So here I am now, with 25+ research and term papers under my belt, taking the required Writing for the Media (during summer vacation, no less) so that I can graduate. Though I'm not exactly thrilled with it, I know it is something that will help me as a writer, and will eventually help me when I embark on a definite career path (I've been told in every communications class I've ever had that potential employers greatly value writing skills). I know that I'll work hard, but I can't say that I won't call my dad and complain a bit.
My academic background can be describe in one word: non-linear.
I started college back in September 2001 (yes, that September) at Massachusetts College of Art in Boston, MA. I was a declared sculpture major with dreams of doing special effects makeup and prosthetics for film and television; my goal since the age of 5 was to work for Jim Henson Productions/Creature Shop. Unfortunately, art school was not at all what I had anticipated it to be. Expecting to do mostly figure sculpture and casting moulds, I was forced into compromising my work to fit into the "art world" - which at the time (and still today) is mostly interested in conceptual work (a real example from one of the students in my class: taking a dump in a paper bag, covering it in honey, and telling the class a story of how it relates to her childhood).
Additionally, as I became more involved in my field, it started to become apparent to me that the FX makeup industry was becoming more and more obsolete, as computer animation/CGI became more advanced.
After having to re-evaluate my entire education (and my dreams), I decided to go into film; but while I was interested in the production aspect, I was more interested in the analysis and criticism of film. This meant that I was not only at the wrong school, but also in the wrong part of the country. Surprisingly, instead of telling me to just "stick it out," my father said, "maybe you should consider transferring."
I don't really know how I found Manhattanville College. I just know that I was accepted, offered a scholarship (beyond all reason), it was close to NYC, and they offered film courses. I think it was the fact that they had a castle on campus that really swayed my decision. That, and I was told that I didn't have to take any classes involving math. Nonetheless, I embarked on a new phase in my life, which included living on a real campus and writing papers for the first time since high school. It was a bit of a culture and academic shock for me, so I decided to take some time off ("some time" turned out to be a year-and-a-half). I re-enrolled in 2005, and haven't looked back.
The rest, as they say, is history.
Upon graduating, I don't plan on working - at least not right away. For the past twenty-five years, I've lived a very comfortable and privileged existance, and while I fully appreciate every opportunity that I've been given in life, I feel very compelled (almost guiltily so) to give back. That's why I plan on working/volunteering in Africa for AIDS/HIV-related issues (either in Kenya, Sudan, Ethiopia, South Africa, or Ghana) right after I graduate. I have plenty of time in my life to work in America and earn money and support myself, but I anticipate the intrinsic value coupled with the experience of helping people (who really appreciate it and need it) far outweighs the former.
So here I am now, with 25+ research and term papers under my belt, taking the required Writing for the Media (during summer vacation, no less) so that I can graduate. Though I'm not exactly thrilled with it, I know it is something that will help me as a writer, and will eventually help me when I embark on a definite career path (I've been told in every communications class I've ever had that potential employers greatly value writing skills). I know that I'll work hard, but I can't say that I won't call my dad and complain a bit.
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