An apple a day

Isn't it odd how forces sometimes coalesce around certain issues in your life, seeming to dare you to respond? Who am I to argue with fate?

I consider myself a plebian. I come from plebian stock and hope to remain in touch with my plebian roots throughout my entire life. I hope to raise children who carry a plebian mindset with them in all they do. I never want to be mistaken for an elitist or someone who isn't willing
to work for something. Why the rambling? I got sucked into a debate today on the merits of a private school education versus a public school education. For those of you who don't know me very well, let me state that education is one of my "hot button" issues (hot button issue=an
issue I care deeply about and will cause me pull out the nearest soapbox). The conversation itself was fairly innocuous because I was speaking with a like-minded individual. However, it did bring years of resentment toward the education system to the forefront of my mind.

I am continually amazed at the politicization of our education system and how it has turned into a battle of the haves versus the havenots. (I'm going to oversimplify here because I'm a lazy blogger.) Take public school versus private school for example. Generally (remember I'm generalizing here and realize there are exceptions to this), people who have the means are the only ones able to send their children to private school. Private schools have, in fact, been referred to as training grounds for the new elite and are becoming widespread enough to cause me to wonder whether our government and its people have given up on public school. If mainly those with means can send their kids to private school and the government is investing less in public school, then where does this leave public school children? Public schools, particularly in lower income school districts, get treated like second class citizens. I speak from experience on this issue, having gone to school on "the wrong side of town". My high school lacked in so many of the opportunities afforded the high school on the other side of town. I hadn't even heard of AP tests until I graduated college.

It's not just about public versus private education. It's also about the general dumbing down of our kids. Teaching to standardized tests is not teaching. Allowing any Suzy Sixpack to educate her kids at home is not teaching. Assuming your kid deserves a higher grade than they got or deserved is not helping their education. I'm not just pulling these things out of thin air. I have witnessed this myself or have seen friends who are teachers go through it.

I am so not done with post but should stop before it becomes a manifesto. Let's just say that if we can't effing teach our kids (ALL kids) then what are we coming to?

I *heart* art

I love art. Simplistic, complicated, beautiful, obtuse, paint, photography, illustration, graphic design, music, the written word...love it all. I spent the last few hours of my evening flipping
through one of my old issues of Look-Look magazine, a publication aimed at promoting the work of young artists in a variety of mediums. The emotion and creativity displayed by those with little formal training always blows my mind. It makes me want to drink wine, put on a good cd
and create something. Some people want to bring forth life in the form of children; I want to give life to art of some kind. I have a hard time choosing a favorite artistic medium, but the flexibility of photography amazes me. I guess the point of this post (other than the rambling it has afforded me) is urge you to check out one of my favorite photographers. Go to Scarlet's online photo montage, and let your jealousy build looking at her photos. Start with her 'favorites' folder...you won't regret it.

Just a dusting of emotion

I'm feeling euphoric right now. We're in the middle of the first
snowfall of the season, and even though it is just a series of flurries
I love it! It's ironic how there is a moment where something snaps
inside me, and I begin to get excited for the holiday season. I have
had Tuesday and Wednesday off this week, time that was truly mine and no
one elses. During the past two days I have become ok with Christmas
music, snapped fall pictures, baked cookies, spiked my own drink, and
knit a scarf. This afternoon, I watched my first holiday movie of the
season, and this evening sang my first Christmas carol and danced around
my living room. Since I'm never thankful enough, I thank God for my
family, friends, and the life he has given me to live.

I've got three words for the holiday season...bring it on!
--radicalflower

Fear of Dreaming

I am an inquisitive person. A friend of mine is attempting to set me up with her English professor. She piqued my curiousity by telling me we might hit it off and talking about how mysterious he was. A snapshot and a name later and I was officially intrigued. The man was hot in that geek chic way that I love. Evidently he was intelligent, well-read and had recently published his first novel. All very promising. I then did what every girl with a blog, a Google obsession and an addiction to Alias would do. I googled him. More than your average novice, I took it one step further and trolled Technorati just to ensure I didn't miss anything. Some might call it a bit obsessive, but I believe fully in being an informed citizen. While I didn't discover the secret blog I was hoping for, I did discover his "official" website and a couple of different interviews with him following the release of his book.

Did I learn anything? I learned that Matt Bondurant comes across as one cocky piece of work. Personally, I cannot stand the Dan Brown obsession and would never consider him a literary genius. However, it seems in poor taste for Bondurant to slam Brown's writing while talking about how he set out to write more of a literary novel. I, for one, am fed up with writers and their quest to produce a literary masterpiece. You either possess that kind of talent or you don't. If you have to remind us how talented you are, perhaps you value your work more than the rest of the world. Perhaps the literary novel you thought you wrote is more Clive Cussler than Alexander Dumas. Of course, Bondurant himself admits that writing is an arrogant endeavor in an interview on Slushpile.net.

I could continue on my rant, pointing out the numerous instances where Bondurant came across as arrogant. I am loathe to admit, however, that I find this cockiness somewhat appealing. Help me out here. Why do some women (myself included) have a soft spot for arrogant men?

Prime

I saw Prime earlier this week at the theater, and despite the fact I am no Meryl Streep fan, I enjoyed the movie. I am horrific at psychobabble and looking for the hidden meaning in movies (Freud's analysis of Kafka's the Metamorphosis completely threw me for a loop), but I do know that I was cheering on Uma Thurman's old ass as she hooked up with the uber-young David. It's not that I'm a cradle robber, but as I continue to get older, I do feel like everyone my age is permanently attached. The younger guys begin to look better and better...not to mention the fact that I have trouble even discerning age sometimes.

Really this just illustrates my penchant for inappropriate crushes. Not only has my eye strayed to younger men, I've eyed older bosses, married coworkers, coworkers in serious relationships, people I couldn't stand. Inappropriate crushes begin with the littlest of things. Did you ever have someone look at you in just that way? Look at you like they knew you and convince you they really did? I had what is likely my last encounter today with an inappropriate crush who did just that.

It's not just a look though. Sometimes it's just the way they laugh or the way they annoy me, the way they hug. It's that weird quirk that makes someone want worthy. Fortunately, sometimes you have to recognize an inappropriate crush for what it is, give a hug like you mean it and let them go.

Stigma of walking

Walking (propelling oneself with one's own two feet) in the suburbs is akin announcing you have leprosy or that you've always wanted a child with three arms to handle chores better. Ever since my car died, I have become familiar with buses, walking and the like. I am continually amazed at how weird people think walking is. People stare at walkers. A key piece to this is that you have to be wearing normal (i.e., nonworkout) attire. Slapping on your running shoes, sweatband, and a pair of shorts to get in a walking workout is ok, but walking to get from point A to point B is preposterous. "Don't you have a mini Hummer to use to go that one mile? Do you have so much free time on your hands you can afford to walk?" Their eyes burn these questions into my soul. Perhaps I would be less bitter about this if I weren't being forced to walk by a car that is now a very expensive piece of junk.

Weekend update

*Sigh* I feel like the last few days have passed in a blur. As the leaves finally turned and made their way to the ground, I spent much of the week in rural Virginia at a staff retreat. Forced bonding is a double-edged sword. I am thankful for the way in which the true personalities of certain people on our staff were revealed. I'm continually amazed at the audacity of people to hold on to the antics of high school and middle school and am thankful I've had the luck to outgrow some of that drama. Of course, that age manifested itself in the form of aching knees on Thursday after a night of hardcore staff dancing.

As the staff retreat came to an end on Friday, I stayed in the Virginia wilds (re: rural and a little far away) for a modern-day version of the slumber party. Think coed with a bartending book, board games and truth or dare. I discovered that:

*Scarlet can make a mean pizza and mixed drink.
*I don't like Tijuana Sunrises or Carusos.
*Steven is the cookie monster and wears cute pjs.
*I can't hum worth a darn.

I wrapped up the weekend with movies, a Godiva (the alcohol) ice cream float, and a rockin' free haircut.

I missed blogging.

teenage crushes

I was looking through a box of old photos the other day in search of a picture of me as a toddler and came across several photos of an adolescent me hanging in my room. Like your average pre-teen (hell, teen) I had adorned my walls with all sorts of random memories. This includes a lion's share of ripped out pages from magazines like Tiger Beat featuring men I thought I couldn't live with out. Looking back I have come to realize that perhaps my taste in men was always skewed. My walls featured George Michael (gay); Michael J. Fox (Alex P. Keaton so played into my republican fantasies); and Elvis Presley (what other kid gets a crush on a overweight, dead rock star). There were more photos up, but these 3 were definitely my obsession. What celeb crushes did you have when you were a kid?

thirty, flirty & thriving

I woke up this morning and had to deal with the fact that I am now a 30 y.o. woman. Truthfully, I have been celebrating the fact all week and coming to terms with this day the moment the clock started ticking on 29. I have had a fabulous weekend celebrating thanks to be surrounded by good friends.

Friday night Scarlet, Steven and I (sboos) headed into Richmond for a little food, drink and FirstFridays. Scarlet showed us around some of her old haunts, starting with cheese and pepperoni at Bottoms Up Pizza. Lack of a proper meal during the day left us a bit tipsy after one drink, so I decided to bite the bullet and kick off Project 30 Kisses for 30 Years. Steven's eyes widened as I pushed him against the wall outside and laid one on him. Poor guy...thanks for being such a good sport and being my #1. Fully satiated (from the meal, not the kiss), we headed down to Broad Street and FirstFridaysArtwalk. Fat bellydancers, twirling fire, a 3-d hut that made me feel like Alice in Wonderland going through the little door, spinning outside of Scarlet's brother's store, and tons of those kind of guys. We closed out the evening with a round of brew at Penny Lane Pub and me going round and round on which guys in the bar to make 2+ in Project 30 (none...couldn't bring myself to do it). The evening technically wasn't over because Scarlet and Steven further plied their way into my heart with birthday cake from Cakelove (mmmm) and a supply of sugar-free Red Bull. Seriously, you know your friends know you when they know the way to your heart is through chocolate and caffeine. I even enjoyed the laughs on the drive back as we all fought to stay awake (with only Scarlet and I winning) and pondered a quick jaunt to Spirits while Steven snoozed.

Not to be outdone, Saturday night was all about dancing my way into my 30s. A group of us had dinner in Adams Morgan at El Tamarindo (Mexican-Salvadoran...my favorite) where Ravena regaled us with stories of her afternoon at some sort of bondage convention and other just tried to keep it together : ) Food was good...margaritas were even better. The original goal was to attempt to find parking in Adams Morgan and hit a club or two there...no luck. Searching for a parking space in Adams Morgan requires divine intervention that we didn't have. The best we got was a game of chicken with a screaming fire truck on those narrow residential streets. Perhaps it was divine intervention because we ended up at one of my new favorite places, Blue Gin. Some ass-shaking occured, and I did indeed dance my way into my 30s.

Thanks, guys. You rock!

Remarkable

It hit me this past Sunday that I was spending my last week as a 29 year old. I get these ideas in my head and decided I wanted to make each day memorable and celebrate by doing something I wouldn't normally do. It started with a bottle of wine I'd been saving before work on Sunday (hence the wine, bubbles, Smashing Pumpkins post) and culminates the weekend with what we're calling Project 30 Kisses for 30 Years. In addition to a good bottle of wine in a relaxing setting, I've tagged (graffiti) my first thing and placed a secret in a book that could have inspired the secret. Tuesday I determined I should kiss a random man and managed to snag Todd (a friend of a friend), quaintly placing lips to his soft cheek. I'm leaving out the part where I turn as red as a tomato and chicken out the first time. I'm most proud of myself for Wednesday because I was honest and straightforward with a long-time crush about my feelings for him. Even though it was a simple message on voicemail I risked getting hurt for the potential for something grand. What a way to celebrate those last days in my twenties!

The humpty dance

It's officially Hump Day on the east coast, and I'm beginning the
downhill slide to my 30th birthday. Don't get me wrong...I think 30
will be fabulous. However, it is a landmark birthday, and I plan on
celebrating and posting appropriately. Today kicks off my series of
'30' themed posts that includes the '30' photo contest and ends with
installing the new site design I've been waiting to put up. Today I
tried really hard to come up with my 30 favorite things (including
feelings, actions, etc.).

Serena's 30 Favorite Things:

1. Diet coke
2. The unconditional love of family
3. Second kisses
4. Dirty Dancing
5. Email (re: sidekick)
6. Clean sheets
7. Dancing around in my pajamas
8. The 'journey' part of a road trip
9. 74 degrees fahrenheit
10. Laughing 'til I cry
11. Digital cameras
12. Blogging
13. Words that begin with the letter 'f'
14. Alias & Friends on dvd
15. Water (rivers, oceans)
16. Chocolate & coconut
17. Smashing Pumpkins
18. Thunderstorms
19. Tulips
20. Handmaid's Tale
21. Vanilla
22. Mexican food
23. Travelling
24. Chartreuse
25. Cosmopolitans
26. Sephora
27. Johnny Depp
28. Hugs
29. Sandals
30. Paris
--radicalflower

A break in the clouds

Some of you know I've been struggling over the past 2-3 months with
finding a book that holds my attention. This wouldn't be such a problem
if I wasn't a voracious reader. Hell, I work at a bookstore part-time
to support my habit. A reader...who can't get into reading?! The sick
part is that I still want the books; I just can't bring myself to
actually read them. Anyway, I digress. Yesterday, I found myself
already 100 pages into a book, an advance copy of "A Total Waste of
Makeup". The problem I'm having is that it's CHICK LIT! I don't read
chick lit (well...once in a blue moon)! I couldn't make it through
"Oryx & Crake" by Margaret Atwood, but I'm flying through this?! I
*love* Margaret Atwood...Booker Prize judges orgasm at her feet when she
publishes a new book. I'm tempted to make all kinds of excuses about
how this particular book is intelligent (I swear it's not dumb) or how
it resonates that the main character is about to turn 30 or how I'm so
tired and stressed with work that books that don't hurt my brain soothe
me. I could make those excuses, but I'm not going to. I'm just going
to embrace the fact that yes, I treasure a smart, witty read like
everyone else, but sometimes you've got to feed the brain a little
candy.

*I should also re-evaluate my prejudices against chick lit. Damn
publishers for lumping all these books under such a stupid label and
automatically making us hate them.*
--radicalflower

Head bangers lite

9:30 Club, take two. I was back last night for my second concert of October, Death Cab for Cutie. All said and done, it was a good show. Unlike the Decembrists, you get the impression you don't have to attend a Death Cab concert to experience the true beauty of their music. It is nice, however, to able to experience the geeky beauty of the band a mere feet away. I developed a small crush on the bass player who pounds his bass like a pimp does his whore.

I always get more out of these concerts than just the music. I'm a big crowd watcher and like to develop theories based on my observations. These past two 9:30 Club concerts have not disappointed on material. Looking out over the crowd (I was on the balcony), it was a sea of head bopping. It was so across the board that I felt like I was at some weird cult gathering. I determined that head bopping is to indie what head banging was to metal. The other observation I've been kneading around in my head is about "indie" guys. The problem is that it becomes increasingly difficult to tell whether or not they are straight. I'm sure some of you are asking why this matters, but as a single girl, I don't have time to waste being attracted to a boy who likes men. The geeky/retro/scruffy/laidback thing is hot, but things do seem a bit more ambiguous with indie guys. Another thing that makes it all the more confusing (and I'm seriously channeling my inner Texan here without meaning to) is that they all bop their heads and sing along to the music just like the girls! I don't know...I know I'm stereotyping here, but I see groups like DCFC as a group girls like, and if guys like them, they wouldn't actually show it. These guys bopping and singing like girls confused me. It's not that I'm saying I want only manly, old school men, but sometimes I want a manly, old school man...who is sensitive but doesn't bop.

Apologies and all that crap

I've been such a bad blogger this week. Usually I try to post at least once a day during the week because I like to and because it's cathartic. Unfortunately, this week has been inordinately busy with work (the perfect storm is coming together right on my desk), a work trip to New Jersey and my mini internal crisis. You know I'm exhausted when I'm in bed by midnight every night and don't bother to turn on the tv...I haven't even watched last week's Alias or Gilmore Girls! Anyway...enough apologizing.

Driving to New Jersey was a first for me. I had been through the state on the way to NYC before but had never taken a trip to Jersey for the sake of going to Jersey. The point of my trip was to accept an award for a restoration project we had worked on; however, I was able to make some interesting observations along the way.

(1) As bad as they are for the environment, I really like driving SUVs. My rental was a Chevy Trailblazer, and I had the most fun.
(2) The Village must have been filmed at the Village of Batsto because I would swear I was on the set.
(3) When Atlantic City is only 20 miles away, you are obligated to go. What a weird town, too! I had lunch at Caesar's and wandered around a bit. The casino floor was actually kind of depressing. All these little old people gazing blankly into a slot machine, pulling a handle for happiness.
(4) Caffeine is still my bitch.

*In other news, I don't want to promise too much, but I'm going to try to redesign my site this weekend.*

Am I chicken little?

I've come to realize I have an odd fixation on apocalyptic or end-of-the-world themes. I always make a point to watch those weather disaster movies, even if they're "made for TV." Twister, Dante's Peak, Volcano, Category 6: Day of Destruction, and now Day After Tomorrow...I've seen them all and more. It doesn't end with weather-related disaster, though. I've also see Armageddon, the Core, Independence Day, The Towering Inferno, Airport...those movies where people are supposed to overcome great odds to save themselves and the world. The thing I'm hesitant to admit is that a small part of my conscious mind is always pondering the possibility of something like this happening as I'm watching the movies. Rather than being afraid, it makes me want to be prepared. Usually this entails me wanting to develop a kick-butt exercise routine so I can run for my life or kick a little ass. Day After Tomorrow made me realize having realistic winter attire might be a good idea (hey...I'm from Texas). Yes, I've read the Left Behind series and tried to figure out what skills I could bring to the end times. I even harbor a quiet desire to learn how to farm in the event I need to live sustainably. If you know me at all, this post probably has you cracking up because (1) I have no food or water in my house...much less a supply for the end of the world; (2) I hate running; (3) dirt gets on my nerves; and (4) my wardrobe consists of clothes only truly suitable for 70 degree weather.

Am I destined to be a sidekick?

I went to see In Her Shoes yesterday and was surprised that enjoyed it
as much as I did. The movie, along with other recent events, got me
thinking about how, in life, someone seems always destined to be the
sidekick. In In Her Shoes, Toni Collette wasn't exactly your typical
sidekick, but in certain arenas, particularly with men, she clearly
spent a good portion of the movie playing sidekick to Cameron Diaz's
younger sister. Other, more classic, sidekick movies such as The Truth
About Cats and Dogs feature a more blatant sidekick component. In each
of these movies the sidekick eventually comes into her own. Toni
Collette does indeed marry the nice, hot guy and Janeane Garofalo really
is enough for the dog guy. Through most periods of my life I've made a
good sidekick. When does the part come, though, when I get to stop
playing the role of sidekick and become the main attraction?
--radicalflower

Decembrist photos

Sunday night I went to the 9:30 Club for the first time and had a
thoroughly enjoyable experience. Ha! I'd like to be able to say I
'rocked out', but I don't really feel like I can apply that term to the
Decembrists (too mellow for rock out). What I did find is that I like
their quirky style and definitely enjoy them better live than via cd. I
developed a small crush on the lead singer and discovered the
accordian player/pianist is really Terra.

I also got kind of attached to the opening act, Sons and Daughters. My
almost immediate attachment reaffirmed my love for rock (or at least
groups that meet my definition of rock).

Anyway, I had a swell time and wanted to chronicle the moment. No
budding rock journalist here. Once I'm on a real computer, I'll post
some pictures.
--radicalflower

Sebago Lake saved the day!

I'm back. Part of me would just like to leave it at that, but given the full weekend I had, I just can't do it. Seriously, though, how much complaining can I do when I had a view like this.














Yes, the weekend had its ups and downs, but it was truly a blessing to spend a relaxing weekend on Sebago Lake in Maine. Those of you who know me know that I am uber skeptical of the wealthy and their motivations, but I was hard pressed to complain this weekend. Migis Lodge is at the top of their game. It kind of felt like I got to play in majors after pitching for the rec league for all these years. Even a girl who works for an environmental group could get used to afternoon tea, sunset sails, a mandatory cocktail hour and 7-course dinners. The crisp fall weather sealed the deal.














There were definitely mishaps. I managed to combine a general tendency to fall with poor choice of footwear to create a record breaking number of falls (3). Fall #1 was the result of wet pine needles on an incline and treadless sandals. That only resulted in a minor scratch and minimal embarassment (only a couple of staffers were around). Fall #2 caused a huge blow to my ego. Who knew hiking would be involved in a Board meeting? Wearing the same treadless sandals I ventured down mother nature's obstacle course flanked by a 70-something Board memember giving advice about putting all the pressure on my toes and the newest Board member, the 30-something heir to the Cox Communications fortune. As I try to "put pressure on my toes" I end up sliding partially down hill and almost taking out the guy my cable checks ultimately go to. Fall #3 was bound to happen. I'm just happy I didn't actually land in the lake. I had successfully negotiated my way between various row boat-sail boat-row boat combinations and decided to take a pretty cute guy's offer of assistance out of row boat and onto the pier. Being the thoughtful person I am, I was worried about dragging this guy with me into the lake (trust me...I'm the kind of girl who falls in lakes). So, I must have done some kind of leap/dive and wound up with my shin pounding the end of the pier and me lying on the dock cracking up. Ask to see the wound : )















There was also the obligatory schmoozing and periodic realizations that I am sometimes so different from these people (staff as well as board). Again, though, how could I really complain when I got to spend time in such an amazing place.

A preview

I'm not complaining quite as fiercely...
--radicalflower