Catching up

Having an iced coffee before my little brother and I head out to see the Rent film. I am looking forward to it, though I'm not sure what to expect. We had to design TV channels in my 9th grade mass media class, and mine was a Broadway channel -- all shows, all the time, sort of a pay-per-view situation. I thought it was a swell idea at age 13, and I remember one obnoxious boy saying during the class critique that it wouldn't be the same as being in the theater. Well, duh. I just hope the Rent film (filmed on stage) is not too much like a music video. That frightens me.

It is so beautiful outside it's hard not to be in a decent mood these days. On Friday evening, B. and I ordered a chicken pesto pizza and settled in to watch the first presidential debate. We yelled at the TV a lot and applauded a lot. What I keep thinking about is how at least Obama attempted to look at and address McCain directly sometimes while McCain never did once, at least not that I noticed. And I wonder if that was intentional strategy -- McCain's way of saying Obama isn't worth his attention because "HE JUST DOESN'T GET IT" -- or just McCain being a wuss. I haven't watched much debate commentary because I saw a McCain advisor triumphantly concluding right after the debate that Obama is out of touch with mainstream America and I thought I was going to go blind. I just get too emotional. That said, I can't wait for Thursday's vice presidential debate, during which my friend predicts Palin will be a "hot mess all over the screen!"

Yesterday is kind of a blur ... I did homework and watched the highlights of the first season of The Rosie O'Donnell Show. Oh, I got a new roof! I got a new roof on Friday. Which I love, although I stepped on two giant roofing nails this morning in my front yard and luckily I had on thick-soled sneakers and the nails went between my toes instead of into my foot. I am going to call the roofer tomorrow and see if he can send someone back out with the magnet broom.

Last night, we ate dinner outside on a restaurant patio (miso soup, sushi rolls, and a macadamia nut chicken salad) and went to see Burn Before Reading. I both liked and didn't like it. It was worth seeing for Brad Pitt alone.

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(Later in the day ...) My brother and I just got back from the Rent film. WOW! Talk about exceeding all expectations. I thought that Roger was a little too pretty. That said, most of the cast knocked my socks off both vocally and acting-wise. The standout, far and away, was Renee Elise Goldsberry as Mimi. Which surprised me because I always mistakenly thought she was sort of a bland presence based on my limited viewings of her on One Life to Live. I could not have been more wrong about her. Not only was her singing voice fantastic, she completely looked the part from head to toe and acted circles around everyone else on stage. Not that the other actors weren't good because some of them definitely were -- but she was on a whole different level. She really impressed me and I'm so glad I got to see her performing this character. The other standouts for me were Michael McElroy as Collins and Justin Johnston as Angel. They were so wonderful in "I'll Cover You" that they made me not even miss Jesse L. Martin and Wilson Jermaine Heredia. Of course, they'll always be those characters in my heart, but the ones I saw today brought the same kind of beautiful performances and chemistry to that pair. Impressive, I am telling you. IMPRESSIVE. Michael McElroy's voice=beautiful. Of course, nothing beats seeing theater live, but this was a real treat, and I am so glad we went.

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Last night before Burn After Reading, of course there were trailers. The only one that made me sit up and pay attention was the one for Milk. I accidentally caught The Times of Harvey Milk (Oscar-winning documentary) on PBS several years ago, and it has stayed with me. I am really looking forward to seeing Milk (or as much as I can look forward to something that I am sure will ultimately be devastating.) If nothing else, I think it's an important story of an important life that more people need to hear. The documentary is definitely worth seeing, and it's available from Netflix and in 10 parts on YouTube.

And now I am going to eat the tofu pepper stir fry I just made, wash stinky towels that were trapped in a bathroom cabinet whose ceiling was molding unbeknownst to me, and prepare to face the week ahead.

Bursting me wide open

Recently I popped in a rental DVD and the previews before the movie came on. I wasn't really paying attention but then I saw this.

Of course I had heard that Billy Elliot was being made into a musical. But I hadn't really followed it and didn't realize it was opening on Broadway this fall.

Every few years, there's a new musical with which I become obsessed, and I count the days until I can get to New York to see it. I am already so in love with this musical. I have long been in love with the movie. (Note: clearly I was feeling a bit fragile about being single when writing that entry.) I think it looks so wonderful. I cannot wait to see it.

I bought the soundtrack today and listened to it my car. I got a little teary during the opening song, a little tearier during "Expressing Yourself," and was fully weeping by the time "The Letter" played. Mainly because the musical people were smart enough to basically use an exact transcription of the dialogue from that scene as the song's lyrics. I love this movie so much, and I already love this music so much.

Speaking of things to love that I didn't know about: I didn't know a new My So-Called Life box set came out last fall. How did I miss this? I was once so immersed in the MSCL world. I knew everything there was to know about everything about it. I've written a little about my relationship with this show before; I feel like somewhat of a disloyal fan for not celebrating the release of this set. I skipped the first five discs on Netflix and went straight to disc six, which is full of bonus features. Soon I'll go back and listen to the episode commentaries. This is very exciting to me.

THIS MUSIC IS KILLING ME. If you haven't seen this movie, do yourself a favor and rent it tonight. Turn on the subtitles if you can't understand the accents. It's so worth watching.

Lunch break

Having an iced coffee for lunch in order to use coffee shop's wireless, which I still don't have at home. Damn you, Gustav! I just hope it comes back before this weekend because cable TV's still not working either and I need to see Mad Men win a lot of Emmys on Sunday night.

First of all, thanks for your encouraging comments on my last post. They mean a lot to me.

I feel like I'd like to say a few more things. I just want to be clear that I don't think all McCain supporters are evil meanies. My parents, for example, are people I love and respect beyond measure. They have their own personal reasons for believing what they do, and they are not hateful about it. I really do respect that we all have our own personal reasons for supporting the candidates we do, and I don't paint all McCain supporters or Republicans with a big, barfy brush. The men in the coffee shop = assholes. All McCain supporters = not assholes. I understand this and just want to make sure I state it explicitly.

Later that day, I went to a baby shower where I had a nice conversation with an engineering professor about the situation, and it was nice to touch base with someone on the same page as I am. Still later, I was at the gas pump and a woman complimented me on my Obama shirt, and we had a nice chat. It was a nice way to balance out the ugliness of the morning's encounter.

Two of my heroes have written about this lately: Eve Ensler and Anne Lamott. Check them out.

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So far, I've done Jillian Michaels' 30-Day Shred three times. I know Jillian from The Biggest Loser, and Linda recommended the DVD. The first time, I did it without hand weights and thought, "This isn't hard at all! What is everyone complaining about?" Ha. Ha, ha, ha. The next two times, I did it with three-pound hand weights. Which doesn't sound very heavy, I know. But ow. That's really all I can say. Also, I can't do the squats where you put one leg behind the other, squat, and do bicep curls as it makes my back knee feel like it's going to snap in two. So I just put my feet shoulder length apart, squat, and do the bicep curls that way. The great thing about this video is that you're done in about 20 minutes. The bad thing about it is that it makes me realize what a wimp I am. But I'm working on it. I love when Jillian barks about things like "FALSE MESSAGES OF LETHARGY." It fires me up, it truly does. I'm not doing it every day (alternating with Punch, Kick, and Jam, gelato, jogging outside, french fries, weights at the gym, and chocolate chip cookies), but it's definitely good in a pinch. Note: I do these workouts in my living room, which has very hard ceramic tile flooring with no give whatsoever. I simply cannot do repeated jumping jacks and butt kicks and jump roping on that kind of floor without severe ankle and knee pain. For some reason, even running on concrete roads and sidewalks is easier than that. So I throw down the yoga mat and do the serious pavement pounding exercises on it. It really helps, though I'm not sure it's entirely safe as sometimes the mat feels like it might go flying. And three-pound weights are definitely heavy enough for me right now because of the many reps ... I don't think I could complete the circuits with a heavier hand weight right now. If that makes me a wuss, so be it.

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B. and I started Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day and turned it off after the first 30 minutes. I finished it later on my own, and all I have to say is DON'T give up on this movie. It is so much more than it initially seems. There is a shift after the first third or so, and suddenly what seems really silly becomes more serious, and the performances are wonderful and it's really moving and I loved it! I highly recommend it. Amy Adams and Frances McDormand are unsurprisingly great and give wonderfully nuanced, layered, heartfelt, heartbreaking, and funny performances, and Lee Pace -- wow. Lee Pace. If you've never seen him as anything but Ned on Pushing Daisies, you already know he's fantastic, but he's REALLY GOOD in this movie. His English accent is perfect, at least to my ears, and when his character really comes onto the scene about 40 minutes in, it's what really snaps this movie into place. Everything about his performance in this screams Future Movie Star in the most beautiful possible way. Give this movie a chance ... it really lifted my spirits and put pep in my step. I liked it so much I watched every special feature and listened to the director's commentary and then started the movie over for the third time. I am becoming attached, so much so that I feel emotionally incapable of returning it to Netflix.

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I don't know what else to say. The weather has turned in the past few days; I am sure it will get hot again, but it's been such a welcome change in the air. I still do not have a new roof or a roofer or anything fixed on my house, and I am growing accustomed to the mold smell. It's just incapacitating, somehow, deciding how and when to do all this and how to pay for it. And I'm still really ill about and saddened by Gustav and Ike in general and by what they did to my state and to Texas.

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In other news, before Gustav came along and ate all of my money with his giant ridiculous should be illegal deductible and in spite of the fact it might cause me to fail both of my classes, I bought a plane ticket to Hawaii. Where I am going very soon. Like some kind of lunatic. Who cannot wait.

Yes, we can.

This morning after unsuccessfully attempting to get some news about Ike (no internet and no cable at home post-Gustav makes that tough), B. and I decided to head to the store. First we stopped for coffee; he waited in the car. I walked into the coffee shop wearing this Obama shirt. I made conversation with a couple of employees and served myself a large half-cafe au lait, half-hot chocolate, paid for it, and went to the little coffee counter to mix my drink, put the top on the cup, and so forth. It was a pleasant morning so far, Ike worries notwithstanding. There were three men sitting at the table adjacent to the coffee counter.

"Barack Obama is good, huh?" one of them asked. I smiled, thinking they were just making friendly conversation with a stranger, as people around here, myself included, are wont to do. "Yes, I think so," I replied.

"I don't think he's good," he said. "Barack Obama scares the shit out of me." He said this is a loud, angry voice. I blinked for a moment, still smiling, and said, "Well, sir, this is America. We can disagree, and it's okay." I was very conscious about being as cordial and polite as possible, partly because I am brainwashed by Southern etiquette to respect my elders but mostly because I was not about to cop a 'tude while wearing a Barack Obama shirt. As dumb as it might sound, I am always very conscious about not displaying assholish behavior in public (impatience in Wal-Mart lines, honking my car horn at people who don't know how to do the four-way stop thing at our many still-powerless stop lights, etc.) when wearing one of my Obama shirts. I want to be a good ambassador in whatever small way I can. So I gave what I thought was a diplomatic, polite answer and prepared to be on my way.

Then he said, "You're not welcome in here." On the inside, I did a double take. Surely he could not have said that.

"I'm sorry," I said before I could stop myself, still smiling and polite, "Did you say I'm 'not welcome in here?'" I could feel my face start to get red and my hand start to shake as I stirred my coffee, but I tried to be steady. He and his friends hemmed and hawed and he denied saying it, still without wiping the scowl from his face, but it was in a way where he clearly had and it was obvious. I said, steeling that smile on my face with all the force I had within, "I'm just trying to get coffee here."

"Obama!" another man at the table sneered. "He's one step away from communism!" I stirred my coffee determinedly.

Then I said, "Y"all have a great day. It's been really nice talking to you," and though I wanted to say it sarcastically, I tried to say it nicely. I was just determined to be nice. I did not want them to see that they had upset me, and I surely did not want to reveal the bitchface that was now boiling beneath the surface. Maybe that was the wrong thing to do, but I just felt it was the best call I could make at the time.

As I turned and walked out, I felt the tears springing to my eyes and said a fast goodbye to the employee I normally would have hugged and chatted with a little longer. He looked a little confused and worried but I rushed to the car, by which point I was fully crying. B. was alarmed and promptly wanted to go back inside and "talk to them" (punch them out). But I figured that could have led to nothing good, so I just bawled in the parking lot for a few minutes to the point where I began sweating profusely and then composed myself. He said I need to get in touch with my mean side, but I said I couldn't, not when wearing my Obama shirt.

Here is the thing: I am very familiar with the playful, friendly (if often condescending) way that older men joke around with and rib younger women. It happens all the time, particularly in my work environment and just with men I encounter all the time in every day life. Normally I will go along with it even if it's sexist and rude because it's usually in a playful way and in a way that is so ingrained in our society that it feels easy to roll my eyes and let it roll off my back.

This was not that kind of encounter. It isn't even so much what they said as the way they said it. They weren't doing the "Ah, the folly of youth!" thing. These men weren't smiling, they weren't friendly, and they weren't doing that harmless joking/non-sexual sort of flirting that men of a certain age do with women of a certain age. They were acting with outright contempt. They were sneering. I'd say they were even snarling. They were like three mean, hateful, angry snakes. Their behavior was almost cartoonish. They were like villains in a cartoon, except they were right there in real life. It's shocking to me now, a few hours later, to think about the disgusted looks on their faces. The way they looked at me, like I was disgusting. Because of the name of the man on my shirt.

I called my mom, who made me feel much, much better. She wisely pointed out that confrontation is a risk you take when you wear a shirt advertising a candidate or a religion or whatever. She said, "I'd be taking a risk wearing a shirt with something about the Catholic church." Correct, and duly noted. She also said that it was three against one and they felt like they had the power in the situation because they were three older men and I was one younger woman. She said that made them feel "macho and cool" but that alone, each is "probably a little weenie." (These are direct quotes. I love the way my mother talks sometimes.) She said lots of people hate Obama and "some people hate George Bush." I said, "I really hate George Bush, Mom. I am counting the days until he leaves office. But I would never attack a stranger in public for wearing a Bush shirt!"

She said, "It was an attack. You were attacked for being who you are. They might as well have punched you in the stomach." I could have kissed her for saying that, for understanding that. She said there are plenty of McCain supporters who would "never, ever behave that way."

She said, "I think we should pray. Lord, we know you love those men -- even though they are an insult to humanity. Please help us not to let them exert any more power over us." I wish I could remember more of what she said, because it was truly classic. After this wisdom and prayerfulness, she said, "I really wish I could just get a gun and shoot them." I wanted to say, "Well, Mom, if the election goes your way ..." but I didn't. As for my dad, he asked me, "Who were they? What did they look like? Had you ever seen them before? Do you think they're regulars?" I think he wanted to go start a fight! It was very nice and dadly. Then he sighed and said, "They're idiots. We should pray for them." In case I haven't mentioned it lately, I love my parents a lot.

It was a small encounter, but it feels so much bigger to me. I think I sobbed both immediately following and when relating the story to my mother for many reasons. Because of the way that men treat women. Because I hated myself a little for not standing up for Obama and for myself. Because of the way white people treat black people and treat anyone who plans to vote for a black man. Because Obama "scares" people so much that they HATE him. What is scary about Barack Obama? I will never understand this. Because they actually behaved that way to a woman trying her hardest through gritted teeth to treat them with respect and fight back the tears at the coffee counter of the oldest, friendliest coffee shop in town, a place she's come with her family her whole life, a place where she's never felt anything but happy, welcomed, and safe and that they would actually mutter the words, "You are not welcome here." WTF-ing F? Seriously? I have made plenty of cracks about McCain and Palin, but I don't feel actual, visceral hate for them. (Wish I could say the same thing about GWB ... cannot.)

Most of all, I think I sobbed because it hit me like a ton of bricks that if these men's hate is multiplied by the thousands and millions that Obama could really, truly lose. And more than being treated rudely by a trio of assholes, more than living in a world where men are dickheads to women just because they think they can be, that is what truly breaks my heart about this situation. If they could muster up that much hate in a coffee shop while surrounded by the smell of beignets and the joyous sight of children practically inhaling powdered sugar -- what are people in the rest of America doing? What will they be able to pull off on November 4? I think that love is stronger than hate. If love were the deciding factor, I think the people who believe in Obama could love him right into office. That's how strong my love feels today.

Processing

It's hard to know where to start talking about this week. I'll start with flashes of memory: the sound of the wind on Monday afternoon as the hurricane passed through, sounding like an ear-splitting whistle or a woman screaming, for hours. The sight of my roof shingles strewn across multiple yards. Walking the dogs with my cousin through the neighborhood puddles. Eating shrimp and chicken breasts saved from a powerless freezer by my cousin, who cooked them over a camp stove in the backyard. Putting pots down under one ceiling leak, then a second, then a third. Watching leaks that were drips turn into leaks that looked like a stream from a running faucet. Watching the mold appear on the ceiling in one place, then two, then three. Smelling the mold as the stench set in. Seeing my dad pull up my driveway in the rain and hold out a ten-pound bag of dry ice that he found heaven knows where for me to put in an ice chest. Stepping in mid-calf-deep water in my Tevas while splashing through my backyard picking up shingles. Lying in bed sweating because there's only so much air a small battery-operated fan can produce. Laughing deliriously with my cousin and B. Running down the driveway in my pajamas in the pitch darkness and rain to tell a truck full of very tired-looking firemen carrying hoses up my driveway at two in the morning that my smoke alarm was set off by the water flowing from the monitored smoke alarm in the ceiling and that there was no actual fire. Watching my cousin and B. disappear into my dark attic to survey the damage. Watching B. climb onto the roof to put up a tarp with bricks from my dad's house while the dark clouds swirled behind him just before it started storming again. Hearing about how my dad fixed his phone line by climbing into a ditch with twist ties and a plastic bag. (Still not sure how he did that.) Seeing how excited my mom was to have a phone line again.

I'm not saying any of this to complain. I am better off than many people, most people even. It has occurred to me as I've begun to peek my nose past my cellphone, which was my main communication for a few days, that there's a lack of understanding beyond this state about what has happened here. I'm as happy as everyone else that the waters did not flow through New Orleans this time. But that doesn't mean there hasn't been water and devastation. I have friends in this city who have been told as recently as today that the best case scenario for their power being restored is 21 days or more. Living without power might be better than being flooded (as many have been) or crushed by trees (which many, many, many, MANY homes and businesses have been and which actual PEOPLE have been) or dead (not sure of today's count, but yesterday it was 19 in this state), but it sure is miserable, especially for old people and sick people and little babies and kids. And it sure makes it hard to dry out homes if there's no cool air circulating and it's topping 90 degrees every day. My relatives would like to go home, but you can't go home when you live in a city where you can't drink your water or flush your toilet and have been told you won't be able to for the next month.

I guess I just want people to understand. Kids are out of school. People are not going to work. Small businesses are losing income and throwing out tons of spoiled food and products. People are waiting for hours for gas -- my cousin got to the gas station at 7 a.m. yesterday and did not fill up until 10 a.m. Three hours in a gas line. Few stores are open. The line just to set foot in Walmart? Around the entire circumference of the building. I've stopped counting the trees I've seen that have cut through houses because they are everywhere you look. Both houses next-door to my parents' house and the house across the street from them all have holes in the roofs. It just kind of freaks you out to realize it could have been you and then it makes you feel really sort of guilty to feel such deep relief that it was someone else. I am sort of an emotional basketcase over three leaks and mold and a messed up roof. Which is sort of unacceptably self-indulgent, and I am working on it. And I GOT MY POWER BACK. Making me one of 25% of the city's people who have power right now, 5 days after the storm. I am so thankful for that it makes me want to fall to my knees and weep.

Meanwhile, I've missed the entire Republican National Convention, not that I think I could have stomached watching it anyway, and I'm now reading things like this that are just about pushing me over the edge of sanity. Wake up, voters. Please, please, please let's all be awake and pay attention and not sit back and let this happen. It is terrifying me and making me feel like puking.

I don't know what else to say. I am worried about the people of my state and of my country. I want us all to come to our senses and be okay.

Scenes from my neighborhood: