Man versus Woman

This is long overdue.  I was assigned this review about a month ago, did the grunt work right away, and then procrastinated due to reading, a cruise, and the Red Sox.  In any case, I'm doing it now and that's what counts.

The following scenario is true 99% of the time:  Ask a man if he likes the movie The Big Lebowski and he will emphatically say yes.  Ask a woman if she likes it and she will emphatically say no.

I first saw this movie maybe 6 months after it came out and I remember not liking it, in true female fashion. But I kept wondering why there's such a gender chasm in its followers and I decided to watch it again to see if I'm still on the girl side of things.  Theresa gave me the assignment of reporting back on my findings.  Here they are.

I am a man.  Wait, let me rephrase.  I'm a woman who sometimes dresses up like a man.  I can confidently say that I liked the movie.  I can also confidently say that I did not love it.  Obviously I liked the colorfulness (it's a word) of the characters. But then, the Coen brothers are known for their original, eccentric characters, so there's no surprise there.  I think I would have been even more bored than I already was with the plot if the bits of humor mixed in and the characters' nuances didn't add to the scenes.

Things that were good:  any scene with John Turturo, the concept of the white russians, the dream sequence (mainly due to the costumes and the music), the soundtrack, John Goodman (!), Philip Seymour Hoffman

Things that were bad:  Tara Reid (this can be said for any movie she's in), not using Steve Buscemi to his potential, the scenes with the "cowboy" talking to the camera at the bowling alley bar, the plotline around Julianne Moore

I guess this movie is a typical Coen brothers movie which means I should have known that I would think it's good artistically but not good entertainingalingly (not a word).  In other words, I can see why people would like it.  But I still can't see why it's split between men and women.  Is it the bowling?  The swearing?  Tara Reid?  And are those the same reasons why women don't like it?

I think I'll stick with watching movies and not reviewing them.  I'm better at the former....

Just saw a dude on a bike wearing ski goggles. It's 60 degrees outside.

Vegan. Passover. Two words that I'm not sure should go together. Not because I don't approve of the vegan lifestyle or the Jews' exodus from Egypt. On the contrary - I'm all for escaping the wrath of evil dictators (lookin' at you, Pharaoh). But when you live your life without meat, cheese, eggs, fish, cheese, dairy, and cheese, also eliminating corn, bread, pasta, and beans seems a little, shall we say, impossible.

Erev Passover I went to my first vegan seder. It was a community seder, so most of us were strangers to each other. While everyone was a character in their own right, there was only one person who bordered on being judged as Really Weird (she brought more than 10 stuffed animals with her and didn't take any of her three shoulder bags off for the duration of the night.) It was a potluck style seder and I brought an unintentionally dense sweet potato/apple kugel and charoset. I expected to see a lot of dishes that were basically a vegetable sauteed in olive oil, but surprisingly most people brought kugel in one form or another. Since it was a lot of carbs, I didn't need to stop and get a steak on the way home like I thought I would.

We talked a lot about the four children and alternate meanings behind their personalities (the simple child, the wise child, the wicked child, and the child who does not know how to ask). While we were eating, our conversation turned to the vegan/vegetarian lifestyle (which, I guess, was to be expected) and I was delighted to find I was not the only carnivore there. I give those guys credit, though (vegans, not carnivores). They have principles, they stick to them (usually), and they endure the wrath of all the meat-eaters out there who not only don't approve of their lifestyle, but are obnoxiously preachy and try to convert them to the flesh-eating side.

ANYway, the seder was fun, the food was tasty, my Mom is happy I went, Jews are no longer building pyramids, I didn't have to sing the four questions, we got to wear masks with the 10 plagues on them (the lice and boils ones were the best), and I will be constipated due to TMMI (Too Much Matzah Intake) for the rest of the week. Next year in Yerushalayim!

Unnecessary tears

I'm sitting on the stationary bike at the gym listening to some yuppy podcast and watching the (soundless) morning news on one of the TVs. A Hallmark card commercial comes on with an extended family sitting around the dinner table. It is the matriarch's birthday and she is opening a card from, seemingly, one of her relatives. You see her read the outside of the card and open it up to reveal the words "Happy Birthday Love, So-and-So." (It didn't actually say So-and-So, but I don't remember the name.) But that's it. That's all it says inside. And yet, she continues to stare at the inside of the card. Close up on her face to reveal that she's on the verge of tears after receiving such an emotional, heartfelt card. And there I am completely bewildered by this. She has spent 6 seconds reading 4 words, is STILL staring at the nearly blank card, and is close to weeping. What the fuck? Is this woman mentally retarded? I think to myself that Hallmark is way overdoing it and no one cares this much about a friggin' birthday card when the words "Hallmark Recordable Greeting Cards" comes on the screen. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, okay. I get it now.

Pardon the Interruption

I went to the gym around 5:30 tonight instead of at 6:00 this morning.  I don't normally like working out in the afternoon because I feel heavier and it just feels strange to exercise after my day is almost done.  Anyway, so I'm there moving my legs back and forth quickly on the elliptical, my feet experiencing this weird burning sensation that I'm not sure a) how it starts or b) how to get rid of it, when I look up at the 7 treadmills in front of me.  And on each treadmill is a 20-something "dude."  And on each tv screen in front of each of the 20-something "dudes" is ESPN.  I felt like I was in some strange robotic, futuristic movie.  Then I thought about the clientele who frequent the gym at 6am.  And it's mostly the female version of these robots.  Granted, TMZ and The Hills aren't on that early in the morning, so they're stuck watching Doug Meehan give helicopter traffic reports, but still.  Same thing.  

Don't get me wrong.  I'm glad that all these people are working out.  I would much rather be surrounded by pretty, skinny people than fatty fat fat fats.  But there's still no denying that I feel like I'm in a machine when I go to that gym.  

I especially thought the "dude" who checked out every girl who walked by or went to the paper towel dispenser was particularly lame.  He wasn't even trying to hide it.  He DID have nice biceps, though.  Dammit, Lisa!

A cocaine-dealing brother-in-law

Saturday night Nana, Aunt Freya, and I were supposed to eat at the Hofbrahaus in celebration of Nana's 97th birthday (that's right...97...a "holy moly" is warranted here).  But after taking a look at the menu and seeing only meat, meat, and more meat (all in German, I might add), Nana declared she'd rather eat at Pizzeria Uno.  I secretly seconded her opinion.  Unfortunately, at 5:45 pm on a Saturday night, Pizzeria Uno had a 25 minute wait, so we went to the next best place - Bertucci's.

I can't tell you the last time I ate at Bertucci's.  I CAN tell you the last time I ordered Bertucci's rolls to go, took them across the street to a bar, and then proceeded to throw up my 3 Cape Codders into the bag of rolls, ruining the food for everyone and cementing the "Lisa and the Bertucci rolls" story for the rest of my life.  I digress.  We walk into Bertucci's and I am immediately hit with a wall of sound.  Every table has a mother and father and at least two children sitting at it.  All of whom are less than 5 years old, playing with some kind of toy, and screaming.  Normally when I'm out in Longmeadow, Nana takes me to a place called The Grapevine for dinner.  And at 6:00 pm, the place is filled to the rafters with senior citizens, not children.  So this was a new experience for me.  A new and very loud experience.  

Freya orders the steak.  Nana and I order the salmon with the intention of splitting it.  The rolls come.  I eat two.  WITHOUT throwing up.  Nana mentions that she thinks my brother-in-law is dealing cocaine in Mexico.  Freya mentions that she thinks I'm losing my mind.  I mention that I could eat the olive oil with garlic and parmesan cheese perpetually until I die.  

Here's what fathoms me about Bertucci's, though.  My salmon had absolutely no bones in it.  Freya's steak had absolutely no fat on it.  The green beans and asparagus were not only cooked to perfection, but were the most desireable shade of green, and the mashed potatoes were like heaven.  How do they do this?  How are they mass producing salmon, cows, and green beans so that the meals are picture perfect every time?  I was too busy being freaked out by this to enjoy the taste of it all.  Though I quickly got over being freaked out and enjoyed 3/4 of the salmon and a quarter of Freya's steak.  

Restaurants like Bertucci's and Olive Garden and Applebees are mindboggling.  I rarely eat at those places, feel disgustingly full and gross when I do, and typically make fun of the people who frequent there.  But last night, as I created the perfect bite of meat, green beans, and potatoes, I ignored that nagging voice in my head that kept repeating, "You are eating the food of the people who shop at IKEA, watch Desperate Housewives, throw Pampered Chef parties, and laugh at Adam Sandler movies."

Important amendment

This just in....

Theresa has alerted me to the fact that there is no way she looked up at me while eating her pizza. "I inhaled that," is how she put it.

That is all. Thank you.

Reply to all

Tonight Jon and I talked a lot about work stuff.  And it got me thinking.  What do you think it would be like to be a CEO of a company or someone who is pretty high up in the org chart?  Other than having people quiver when they get in the elevator with you, your life has got to be pretty cool.  Specifically related to emails.  I mean, I freak out and start sweating when I send emails to people two levels above me, let alone a CEO or managing director.  How cool would it be if you knew that every email and spreadsheet you receive has been reviewed a million times for typos, alignment issues, and proper page numbers?  

How many cute kitten picture forwards do you think JD (CEO) gets every day?  Do you think he's tallied 577 years of bad luck for not passing on an email about a friend dying of cancer?  And does he get the same spam emails trying to sell him electronic products that I do every day?  

How many people have meant to email Helen an email about that hot guy in the tax department but instead have sent it to H (the second in command) instead?  Did they send an apology email?  Did they get fired?

All I'm saying is that my life would be a lot more efficient if every email and spreadsheet I was sent received the CEO treatment.  No longer would I be preoccupied with finding the "they're their there" typos or worrying that when I print I'll get 18 pages instead of 1 because the page setup isn't set to "fit to 1" and in landscape mode.  

Don't say Haman.

Is it a full moon?  It's got to be.  Because people are friggin' crazy today.  Last week at work I obsessively flipped between People.com and Lifehacker.com to pass away the time.  I was just bored to tears.  And all of a sudden it's like I have no time to breathe.  People in Edinburgh are yelling at me in emails, people in Luxembourg are laughing so hard on conference calls that they are snorting, and people in Boston are so stressed they're reclining in their chairs and splaying their limbs everywhere.  It's all very distracting.

Chris Wyman is convinced that when Patrick Swayze dies, they will play a marathon of his movies.  ALL his movies....not just the one good one.  Which means that I will have to suffer through Point Break.  Again.  I, on the other hand, am pretty sure that TNT will only play Dirty Dancing.  There's no denying it; it was a strange conversation to have.

Yesterday I went over to Theresa's house around 2:30 and left around 10:30.  It's weird, but I think we paid the most attention to each other in the car to and from her house.  When we went grocery shopping, we were concerned with why Stop & Shop doesn't carry Peter Pan peanut butter and whether or not to buy fat free mozzarella cheese or 2%.  Then, when we got to her apartment, I was concerned with uploading my video to youtube (not successful) and she was preoccupied with taking a shower.  And then we watched some tv while both playing on our own computers.  So, not really paying attention to the tv or each other then either.  We kinda glanced up as we ate our pizza, but not really.  It's amazing how 8 hours can feel like only 2 when you're not paying attention to anything.  This is why I feel like my weekend hasn't started yet.  I want a do-over.

Now it's 8:08.  I should be out listening to the Megillah and twirling my noisemaker while eating hamantashen.  But I'm pretty sure sitting here drinking decaf coffee while checking blogs counts the same.  Right?  Right, God?  

My mortal enemy

"Can we talk about you stealing Splenda, Kleenex, and shampoo from the hotel room?"

That's the first thing Susan said to me after all her other friends had gone home after her bachelorette party in Washington D.C. this past weekend.  I responded with a simple "No."  No need to discuss.

The weekend was fun.

Becca said "My mom's a pharmacist" twice.

Naomi tripped once.

I saw Dorothy's ruby slippers, Martha Washington's dress, Vermeer paintings, moon rocks, dehydrated ice cream, and a lot of pictures of Cincinnati Jews.

I ate a Nando's chicken sandwich, something I didn't think I'd do again until I went back to London.

A waiter sang "It's Now Or Never" to Susan at dinner and got the lyrics wrong.

Naomi and Melissa got an earful from me about eating shellfish.

We all played CatchPhrase in which we learned that, to Campbell, "sofa" is a weirder word than "couch."

We all played Apples to Apples in which we learned that, to everyone in the world, calling Helen Keller "frivolous" is hysterical...slightly better than calling Schindler's List "melodramatic."

Susan tried, on numerous occassions, to unbutton my shirt in public.  She was successful only half of the time.

We all learned that if you want to taste the devil, take a lemon drop shot.

Becca told me she has killed 32 rats.  And then she cut off their back legs.  And then she skinned those legs.  And then she snipped off the ends of the bone.  And then she rinsed the bone of their bone marrow.  And then she infected those bone marrow cells with the Hanta virus.  All while in a space suit reminiscent of Outbreak.

The name Dan Green was mentioned way too many times.  (I suppose this is the risk you take if you wear a helmet and don a "crustache" as Naomi put it.)

Susan and I watched Pineapple Express and didn't laugh.

I ate cookies.

My flight was cancelled.  And then it was cancelled again.

Susan turned off her car by pushing a button.

We all took turns reminiscing about our first and/or favorite memory of Susan Casper.  Mine started off, "The first time I met Susan, I thought she was a real bitch."  It's one of my favorite stories.

Hey Susan.  Happy Bachelorette weekend.  Next time don't dump your drink down my back.

The Special People Club. Being...well, special.

Josh came into town last weekend.  Hilarity ensued.

I will be scolded for this entry.

I'm teaching my Mom how to use iTunes. I'm mainly doing this so that she can listen to all the podcasts I love and get her back to listening to NPR. (One of my favorite memories growing up was listening to All Things Considered on the kitchen radio while my Mom made salmon latkes or shepherd's pie or spaghetti and meatballs.) Steve Jobs and the rest of the people at Apple have done a very good job of keeping things simple and easy for their product users. But apparently, not easy enough for a 50-something woman who refuses to get an actual pet but fills her South Beach condo with metal, plastic, and stuffed animals to which her husband assigns names like Rusty (a metal dog), Pelly (a stuffed pelican), or Doug (a ceramic fish..."doug" is the phoenetic way of saying "fish" in Hebrew).

We're talking on the phone while I'm at work the other day....I mean.....we're talking on the phone the other day after I spent a long, grueling day filling out spreadsheets and TPS Reports....and I'm walking her through the steps of downloading iTunes, populating her music library, showing her how to log on to the iTunes Store, and assuring her that just because she has downloaded iTunes that her songs will NOT disappear from her WinAmp. Progress is being made. All her songs are now in her iTunes music library (though she's unsure of what some of them are and is hands down CONVINCED that Apple has furtively downloaded Middle Eastern sounding artists onto her computer without her knowledge) and I've successfully instructed her how to find podcasts online. But when I tell her to download NPR's weekly hilarious quiz show "Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me," she says "No. It's too liberal." Something tells me she won't be subscribing to Obama's speeches podcast..... And yet, I somehow managed to coerce her into downloading The Onion's video podcast. Weird.

I tease my Mom about her (lack of) tech savviness, but she's actually pretty good about picking stuff up. She even emailed me that night to tell me that she really likes the streaming radio on iTunes, which I didn't even tell her about. Who knows if she'll continue to use iTunes (I will have to secretly uninstall WinAmp the next time I'm in Miami) or, gasp, attempt to put the new podcasts on her mp3 player like I told her to, but I'm glad she's at least open to trying something new. My father, however, is a different story. There is no hope for him. How can there be when his biggest computer accomplishment, according to my mother, is that "he Googles things now." I've also heard that 90% of his emails disappear. He'll be typing and then, from the other room, my Mom will hear "Janet! It disappeared again!"

I feel like there's a huge untapped market for technology targeted towards old people. (I'm not saying you're old, Mom.) But it can't require more than three mouse clicks. And it can't take longer than 10 seconds to boot up. And it can't ever break. Or run out of batteries. Or cuss. Or show nudity. Or support Democrats.

Not the best format, but I'm working on it

So, if I could do this right, or if I knew how to copy a screenshot on this computer, these four pictures would be all in a line. But alas, you'll just have to use your imagination.

Anyway, here are my cats. Spelling out my name.

Where is the friggin' double click on this mother?

Here's what I like about twitter.  I can post "heh heh hehn knitting" (CLEARLY a reference to Pee Wee's Big Adventure) and all of a sudden I will get an email telling me that Nancy Queen is now following my tweet.  Turns out, Nancy Queen is somewhat of a knitting freak and probably tags words like "crochet" "knit" "old grannies" and "fibercon" in any and all tweets.  Maybe I'll post some fake updates just for her.  Something along the lines of "Just finished my 47th hat; this has got to be a one day record!"  Or maybe "Has anyone successfully crocheted a g-string?  My mom's birthday is tomorrow and I'm screwed!"

Life advice #89:  If you make lentils with a lot of garlic and then put them in the fridge for leftovers, your entire fridge will soon smell like an anti-vampire convention (or at least I can only assume).  Needless to say...don't do that.

Tonight I opened a brand new Sweatin' to the Oldies.  This was one of the originals.  The VHS was still in the plastic wrapping and the fatties on the front were wearing acid washed jeans.  Totally retro, totally awesome.  It's just too bad that I can't figure out how to get my living room VCR working.  So now my only choice is to watch it on my bedroom tv while I fall asleep.  I'm pretty sure only bad things can happen when entering REM at the same time Richard Simmons is yelling at you to firm your ass cheeks.  

One of these days I will either fall off the treadmill whilst running or, after stepping off the treadmill, I will be so dizzy and discombobulated that I will stumble into someone else's crotch while they're on the elliptical.  Either way the gym will become verrrrrry awkward after that.  I'll keep you posted.

Is Steve Wozniak still single?

I don't even have my new MacBook at home yet (it's still at the Apple store where all my music, pictures, and porn are being transferred on), but already I'm becoming an annoying Mac person. All I do is look up applications and widgets to download once I get it. I have decided that I will need daily sunrise and sunset times for every location in the world, 4 different versions of Freecell, a simulated rollercoaster ride, a demo version of Jeopardy, Passport Photo Studio which will allow me to take and print my own passport photo, 2 jigsaw puzzle games, and the Urban Dictionary word of the day. Will I use any of these things? Probably one of the Freecell games. And maybe I'll give Jeopardy a whirl, but I can definitely see myself giving up after completely bombing on the World History category.

I won't shut up about all the wonderful things iWork can do. But really - how often will I use a Yard Sale template or a keynote presentation? I mean, I could make a slammin' keynote file for Walter about how the kitchen sink is not an appropriate place to urinate blood, but I'm guessing he just won't listen nor appreciate it. I haven't spent the $49 yet on this software, but I'm going to download the free trial and see if I like it. My other option is to download Neo Office, the Mac version of Open Office. And while I'm sure this will more than do the job for standard word and excel type of applications, there's just something about iWork that is calling out to me and begging me to purchase it.

I'd say the thing I'm most excited about with my new Mac is the iMovie feature. I've (clearly) never made a movie. But now that I have some great software that is so user friendly, I think I'm going to make a movie about everything I can. Potential topics: 1) A documentary on the dude who works at the library - Why is he so quiet? Why does he cross his legs like that? Is he 25 or 45? Why does he print out the receipt every time for me when he sees me go outside and immediately throw it in the trash can? 2) A Fight Club montage of Harvey pummelling Walter. (Seriously. You should see these guys wrassle.) 3) A birthday movie for my Mom complete with clips of me perusing JDate.com, using coupons at CVS, calling Nana to say hello, and taking down the picture she hates of her and my Dad where she's not wearing makeup.

Irregardlessly of what I make my movies about, you can be sure that I will (at least try to) embed them in this blog. So get ready. My new MacBook will benefit everyone.

Have I mentioned I'm excited???

Where am I even going with this thing?

I've only written about 6 entries since I got back from London. Apparently I was bored enough in London to write an amusing couple of paragraphs each day. And now that I'm back in Boston, I've been distracted with things like pissing cats, fixing my surround sound home theater, creating excel spreadsheets to adequately track overtime, joining a gym and figuring out how to make my arms look more toned without injuring myself, stealing the Wall Street Journal every day, buying awesome new Merrell shoes, remembering that Nip/Tuck is on at 10 pm every Tuesday night, and making trips to the bathroom at work with Theresa when I only have to go 50% of the time.

I miss writing. I don't miss stressing out that it's 11:30 pm and I haven't written my daily entry yet and oh my God I'm totally gonna let everyone down. But I do want to start writing again on a more consistent basis. I think it makes me a better person since, if I weren't writing, I'd just be watching another episode of the Food Network Challenge. And I swear...whoever does the program scheduling at the Food Network should be shot. Because the 7 pm timeslot is like, so amazingly precious, and they are fucking it up by putting a shitty show like that in there. Sure, I watch it. But not because I like it; I watch it because I need something to entertain me while I make my Kraft macaroni and cheese and the people on Wheel of Fortune are dolts.

Sometimes I make a deal with God in my head. I tell him that I will give him $1,000 if he can make my body instantly look like that Biggest Loser trainer, Jillian's, body. But then I realize that once I have that body, I would probably lose all its definition in about a week ('cause of, you know, candy). So I call off the deal.

Ted posed an interesting question at the Celtics game the other day. He asked if I would pay $1,000 to take a free throw shot. If I make it, I win $1,000,000. I can't remember if I said yes or no. My current answer would be 80% yes, 20% no. Which isn't really an answer at all.

Meowr

I have two cats. I named them Harvey and Walter. When I chose those names, I didn't realize I had a cousin Harvey whose father's name was Walter. I just chose them because they were awesome old man names.
(Harvey is currently lying on top of Walter. I'm not exaggerating. He is lying horizontally on top of him. I'm actually quite worried about this since he weighs a staggering 13 pounds (he's not even 1 year old) and Walter weighs probably 6 pounds soaking wet. I'll keep you updated on the situation.)
Anyway, so yeah. Cats. They're pretty good to have, I reckon. They'll curl up with you when you're watching your fourth straight episode of Law and Order SVU. They'll lick your eyelids at 5:15 am because hey, it's time to get up already, you lazy ass. They'll preen and groom each other and you will wonder what kind of wonderful world we would live in if humans treated each other with that level of care. And they will wrestle with each other, occasionally doing stunts that are all too reminiscent of Keanu Reeve's mid-air attacks in The Matrix.
(Walter has become fed up with the extra poundage lying on top of him and has maneuvered his way out of the body hold. I don't think Harvey even noticed.)
But you know...cats can also suck. They can contract UTIs and pee on your bed, in your bathroom sink, in a stray cardboard box, on your bathroom floor, in their cat carrier, and in your bathtub all in a matter of 45 seconds (2 drops in each location). At first you might be annoyed by this seeing as how washing a comforter every night of your life isn't the most relaxing chore. But then you will realize that maybe you shouldn't get pissed every time you come home to your apartment and find a yellow puddle in the middle of your pillow. Because your kitties are sick. And they're probably either in pain or very uncomfortable. And you should go and hug them.
In conclusion, cats are fun. Urine-filled, but fun.