Today begins Six Words To Change the World’s first weekly feature: the Hump Day Cry Face. Nothing helps inch you a little closer to the weekend like a good Cry Face. In front of Notre Dame. Enjoy.
[Posted by Mallory]
solo cab rides are pretty lonely.
So last night I went out with two of my friends from elementary school (look at the longevity there). We went to a Rockies game, which is always a good time, and then stopped by a bar to see another friend’s band play. Various events in the night got me slightly freaked out about this whole being-an-adult thing (that is, if you consider living at home, temping as a receptionist, and still making bad decisions with alarming frequency being an adult). For starters, at the baseball game we sat in front of these obnoxious kids (including boys who were wearing strangely short shorts) who felt the need to comment on every aspect of the game, and loudly say things like “Should we take the shooters now?” I was blissfully happy eating my burrito, drinking my Coors Light, and staring at the mountains, so I was more entertained than annoyed by these strangers, but from an objective perspective, I could see that they were irritating as hell. My friends and I joked about this and laughed at the antics of these young hooligans, and then I realized…that was me. And I’m not talking that was me like waaay back in college a month ago, but that was me approximately a week ago, at a different Rockies game. People like that aren’t exactly loved by the rest of the population. How long can I get away with shit like this?
After it was clear that the Rockies were going to win (take THAT, Cleveland), we went to the bar to watch my friend’s band play. The band turned out to be awesome, and it was generally a great time. One of the highlights of this little concert was watching the hammered parents of the band members acting like college students, which means they were dancing on tables and making out in corners. This seems to answer the earlier question with a resounding “You can get away with shit like this for a long time! You can get blacked out on a Tuesday and grind up on strangers even when you have children of your own!” And even though I assume, if I’m being honest with myself, that I probably will be one of those parents one day, it still doesn’t seem quite right.
So after watching these drunk adults for a few hours, my elementary school friends left and I decided against my better judgement to stay for a while. After dancing like a hippie to the next band, whose lead singer had one of the greatest Jewfros I’ve ever seen, I started thinking I should go home, and I called a cab. Because my other friends didn’t have important things like filing invoices and answering phones to do the next day, they decided to stay. Which means I had to take a cab home alone. Now, I’m not the type of person who necessarily hates being alone, but I felt self-conscious and pathetic hopping into that yellow sedan all by my lonesome. I knowww that adults do that sometimes — I’ve seen it in the movies — but I didn’t like it.
As much I want to end this bit of rambling with a Carrie Bradshaw-esque conclusion that ties this all together with a neat analogy and an “I couldn’t help but wonder,” (i.e., “And I couldn’t help but wonder…was my fear of being alone in the cab indicative of a larger fear of being alone…forever?), I really don’t know where I’m going with this. I think part of me is still devastated that a night out is no longer a trip to a campus bar where everybody knows your name, you can pay for beer on your meal plan, and you can walk home in five minutes. I’m also not entirely sure what I can do with this borderline-alcoholism that we all pick up in college now that I’m (GASP) not in college. On the weekends, when my drink of choice is still a whiskey coke in shady water bottle form, it’s easier to pretend that nothing’s changed. But this whole “work” thing, this whole “growing up” thing, is really cramping my style. Thank god for grad school.
[Posted by Mallory]
baby you should always walk tall.
Hooker heels for babies? Ha! What will they think of next? I’m currently trying to think of a play on the phrase “baby mama”, but nothing good comes to mind that doesn’t make me feel pervy and like I need to go to confession for just being a bad person. (Catholic guilt will always get you). I could never put a baby in something slutty, but this soulless, pagan, oh-so-cleverly called Heelarious, company has no problem with it. Here is what they have to say for themselves:
“WARNING: May cause extreme smiling and hysterical laughter when in use (this is completely normal).”
The nerve! Clearly, people are screaming left and right about children being pressured to get sexier at a younger age. Hey Miley, good job fueling that fire! You crazy kid!
I say, what the hell, I could have used the practice. That’s a joke people, but then again, so are these heels and I get that. Calm down and don’t get your diapers in a twist.
[Posted by Kathleen]
cyd, i wanted to be you.
Not to get too serious, but I wanted to take a break from politics to comment on the passing of Hollywood dancer Cyd Charisse today. Singin’ in the Rain is one of my all-time favorite movies, and she is one of my all-time favorite dancers. Old movie musicals are not everyone’s thing, (my roommate informed me of this quite frequently when she’d come home to find me sitting in the room alone, in pajamas and glasses, eating a tub of frosting and watching one) but talent is talent, and it must be recognized. She was known for her impeccable grace, elegant movements and top notch legs. I can remember watching her in movies and just wishing I could be that good. Come to think of it, she may have been my first girl crush.
And not to sound like my grandma reminiscing about the old days, but we don’t have the same appreciation for the arts as we used to. When Lil’ Mama (of America’s Best Dance Crew) is seen as a legitimate dancer and one deemed to judge other dancers, we might have a problem.
Cyd, thanks for the inspiration. I’ll close with a great quote from Fred Astaire:
“That Cyd — when you’ve danced with her, you stay danced with.”
Watch her elegance in this one:
Watch her legs (so jealous) in this one:
[Posted by Kathleen]
Filed under dance, RIP, the arts, Uncategorized
john mccain, you silly old man.
So that I actually feel informed on the seemingly overwhelming world of politics, I have a couple of daily briefings emailed to me. One of these is MSNBC’s First Read. In their afternoon email today, a particular issue caught my eye. McCain (who, according to the above photo, is also an irritating fist-pumper) had scheduled a fundraiser at the home of Texas oil man Clayton Williams, the man who in 1990 said about rape, “It’s like the weather, if it’s inevitable, relax and enjoy it.” Um, yeah. Well even though this was a HUGE issue back in 1990, made national news, and essentially killed Williams’ campaign for governor of Texas, McCain claims that he and his staffers didn’t know about the controversial comment. (More on that here; I’m not the expert, these guys are.) Also, according to MSNBC, “the word ‘rape’ is in the title of the third link that comes up in a ‘Clayton Williams’ Google search.” In McCain’s defense, he’s like 300 years old and is probably still figuring out how to send an email.
[Posted by Mallory]
Filed under politics
hey al, it’s about friggin’ time.
To celebrate Al Gore’s official endorsement of Barack, I will use the internet (his invention) for the rest of my life.
This man is truly the superstar of the Democratic Party. Think about it, before the big O, he was the last solid candidate the Democrats put up. He could have disappeared after his loss…okay, so he put on some weight and grew a beard…but instead he went on to write books, save the world and win an Oscar and a Nobel. Snaps to you, Al!
PS- Al Gore inventing the internet jokes will never get old.
[Posted by Kathleen]
Filed under politics
rocco, you’re a winner to me.
Well, looks like the Fist Pumper got the best of my beloved Rocco. Did I cry? Yes. But did I shake off my sadness by watching YouTube clips of people falling? Yes. I think Rocco would have wanted it that way. Mr. Mediate, for making me like golf for two full days, you deserve the highest honors, and your name is carved on the winner’s trophy in my heart. (Too much?)
It was fun while it lasted, and I’ve got to agree with Barbara Barker in this Newsday article when she says that “your interest has to be piqued by a guy bold enough to wear a peace symbol on his belt buckle while playing in front of a conservative country club audience.” Cheers, Rocco. Go home to your three children (this, I believe, has been confirmed) and your beautiful wife (still not certain about that one, but it makes me feel better to imagine that he has a wife to go home to).
And for the record, PGA Tour website? When you include a “personal” section about your players, we lady fans might like to see something a little more personal than just where they went to college. Marital status? Callaway-sponsored boxers or briefs? Alcoholic beverage of choice? That sort of thing.
[Posted by Mallory]
Filed under sports
yo, want 2 swing dance 2nite?
Everyone loves a good “how we met” story. You know, the kind that makes movies like Must Love Dogs (uggh, it kills me to think that I’ll never get those two hours of my life back) seem normal. I love it when my parents tell theirs. If you have ever read wedding announcements/seen 27 Dresses or care about that sort of stuff at all, you know the “how we met” story is the icing on the wedding cake.
But with all of the chick flicks out there to let us know how it should be, you know when a “how we met” story is really bad.
Ex- “Well, I was at one end of the bar and he was at the other. After all of his friends had tried with me, I finally agreed when he asked to buy me a drink because he seemed like the nicest and I wanted to have enough money left over for a cab. We ended up making out at the bar and he Facebooked me later that night.”
Here is my favorite though-this one truly takes the, err, wedding cake. An old friend recently got engaged. Out of pure obligation and a touch of nosiness, one of my BFFLs (LYLAS) asked his fiancée how they met. To this the fiancée responded:
“We met on MySpace. You got a problem with that?”
YES, I DO. But that’s because I hate MySpace with the passion of 18 million angry Hillary voters.
Obviously this girl was on the defensive. She knew that her story was anything but cute. She knows how it is perceived, so she lied to her parents. She told her parents they met swing dancing. SWING DANCING. Yup. Just off the top of my head, I can name a few trillion things more believable and plausible than that. But this brings to mind the question: where do you go to meet someone swing dancing? Plus, I don’t know many single dudes that would go to a swing dancing event. But whatev. If that’s the fantasy she wants, let her have it.
When we spend most of our time online and plugged in, it’s no shock (sadly) that it becomes the dating arena. The biggest step you need to make is Facebooking them. From their Facebook you can get a phone number. And then, you can send a text: hey what r u doing tonight.
I don’t condemn it, but I don’t like it. I will condemn it, however, if it has anything to do with MySpace. Is your engagement photo going to be a longarm style black and white pouty face with added sparkles? If that happens to you, lie to me. Because deep down I still have faith that true “how we met” stories can be cute. I, of course, expect to meet the love of my life at a political rally, realize we love the same Disney movies and old movie musicals, talk about Barack, eat lots of ice cream and live happily ever after. But that’s just me.
[Posted by Kathleen]
Filed under crushes, definitely not politics
to peace, love, and rocco mediate.
Unlike my father, I am no great lover of golf. True, I did once play on my high school’s golf team, but that was a bit of a joke, and my main memories of that era involve eating a lot of candy and doing things on a golf course that would shame my father. Anyway, perhaps as a tribute to dear ol’ dad, I watched the end of the U.S. Open today. Now I’m the type of person who can very quickly get emotionally involved in a sporting event. I may not know much about Tiger Woods besides that he’s in a lot of commercials and is really, really good at golf, but when they showed dramatic clips from Saturday of him clutching his knee and making those impossible shots, with voiceovers of him talking about his father, I got a little teary. After that clip, however, my heart belonged to Rocco Mediate. With a name like that and a peace sign for a belt buckle, there was no way I could not be in love. And he was so jolly!
As I watched until the nerve-wracking end, I had visions of Rocco celebrating his win, weeping as he hugged and kissed his beautiful wife and children (which of course he has). And on Father’s Day! It would have been beautiful. Instead, Mr. Big Shot just haaaad to make his putt, forcing poor 45-year-old Rocco to play another 18 holes the next day. Although I didn’t know Rocco’s name until earlier today, I found myself borderline depressed when Tiger made that shot and did his irritating fist pump. For the sake of the underdog, peace, and really cool names, I hope Rocco can clinch it. Everyone loves a Cinderella story, especially yours truly.
[Posted by Mallory]
six words to change the world. 