The other day, my sister asked which TV guys I would want to date. I didn’t answer right away, so she proceeded to answer for me by saying that she thinks I would date the following guys:
(1) Chuck Bartowski from “Chuck” (2) Spencer Reed from “Criminal Minds” (3) Ned the Piemaker from “Pushing Daisies” (4) Spencer Shay from “iCarly” (5) Shawn Spencer from “Psych”
Now, besides the fact that three of them have “Spencer” as their first or last name, I was a little thrown off by my sister’s complete accuracy. We talk about guys and dating very little, and yet, she knew my “type” so well: incredibly funny, slightly awkward, a bit nerdy, intelligent, and they all have a certain “look” – a look that I can’t really explain, but if you watched all five, you would notice something in their style that is very similar.
The only addition I would make to the list is:
Josh Lyman from “The West Wing”
He doesn’t have the same “look” as the others, but he’s got this cocky arrogance that I’m so drawn to. There’s a scene in one episode where the First Lady (Abby) is talking to a woman (Amy) that Josh is/was dating:
Abby: How did you live with Josh Lyman?
Amy: I’m sorry?
Abby: How did you live with him? He beat Max out of the 12 million earmarked for vaccine education. And when I said I wanted the 12 million he said “So did I. And at the end of a prize-fight, you look at the guy who’s dancing around and that’s who won.” So I wanna know how you lived with him.
Amy: We never technically lived together which was the subject of many…
Abby: Don’t you wanna kill him when he says things like that?
Amy: My problem is I wanna jump him when he says things like that.
That’s kinda how I feel.
-Erinadvertantly consistent “type”
P.S. Who would YOU date?
Filed under: .RACHEL, Books, Music, Politics, Wednesday | Tags: Paul Simon
I have two part-time jobs, and one of them is working as the school librarian’s research assistant. So I spend a lot of time in the library, and none of that goes towards my studying.
Anyway, one of my favorite spots to work is at a desk in the back corner on the second floor, and every time I walk past those shelves I can’t help casually reading whatever titles I happen to catch. There is one book in particular that always catches my eye, and always makes me smile. It’s a worn, black hardcover with gold lettering. At the top of the spine it reads P.S. and below that in vertical letters says The Autobiography of Paul Simon.
Over the course of the year and a half I’ve been working at this library, I must have seen this book more than a hundred times. And each time I meant to remind myself to stop and look at it when I wasn’t busy, but never had. Until yesterday.
I was on my way to the restroom, and when I saw the book per usual I decided: now’s as good a time as any. So I paused, pulled the book off the shelf, cracked it open to the middle page, and saw a baby picture.
‘Aw,’ I thought, ‘little baby Paul Simon’. Then I read the caption, which said something similar to, “Me, 30 years before I went into politics.” ‘Wait a minute,’ I thought, ‘politics?‘ Turns out the book isn’t the autobiography of Paul Simon, but Paul Simon.
This whole time I thought it was a book by and about the man who made me want to marry a Jew, and when I finally took a step closer I found out it was nothing of the sort.
So this was going to be a lesson in, “Trust not the gilded letters” or “Glance at the title and just keep walking” or “Sometimes you want to judge a book by the cover because what’s inside is not nearly as interesting.” But I’m not going to be sorry that my ideas about that book were dashed. Because, as it turns out, Paul Simon the politician seems like a fun guy. Of course I’m basing this solely on the fact that he liked to wear bowties and hornrimmed glasses, and that he played himself in the movie Dave (which I want to see again, now, just to find him). But it’s not the poor guy’s fault that I’m in love with a different Paul Simon and don’t really care about politics.
And that, my dear Creeter Readers, is all I have to say.
Love,
Rachel
When I make an “environmentally-” or “socially-conscious” choice, I feel such a sense of accomplishment and personal pride. I have made such a difference this time, I think. Yes, I buy mass-produced clothes from the mall, but I also shop at Value Village. Yes, I throw out my faded curtains and get a new phone when my old one turns staticky, but I also compost apple cores and sometimes even fish plastic bottles out of the garbage to transfer them to a recycling bin. Yes, I will still buy Nestlé chocolate, but I also buy Fair Trade Cocoa Camino once in awhile.
Why have I never realized that what is in question is not a product, but a person? When I buy Nestlé chocolate or a new pair of jeans made who-knows-where; when there is no convenient recycling bin so I throw out a bottle instead of bringing it home to recycle (or better yet, when I buy a disposable drink bottle in the first place) …
These choices I am making are socially-conscious choices. I am consciously and deliberately choosing to support abusive labour policies and the destruction of the earth.
Making the choice to “shop fair trade” and “live green” are not actions to be praised. They are not actions that should fill me with pride. When a parent doesn’t beat their child senseless, we don’t consider them to be an exceptional parent. That seems to be behaviour that we simply expect from any rational human being.
So why am I so proud of myself when I don’t support child labour, when I don’t actively contribute to the mutilation of my surrounding environment? These are not extraordinary feats. These are things that simply meet the bar of decency and common sense.
There are people dying because I expect them to provide me with a standard of living that is impossible to sustain, and even more impossible to share. And yet I expect a pat on the back when, once a week, I sip some fair trade tea (oh, and the kitschy mug I’m using was bought second-hand!)
It’s Thursday, which means we’ve had a new President for 2 days now. Hallelujah.
When all the election frenzy started, I adopted a daily internet routine to stay informed:
The obsessive election coverage fed my political hunger, and though I have stuck with a similar daily internet routine since the inauguration, I now find myself with a case of post-election meltdown. Everything seems somewhat less exciting, and I’m fairly bothered by that.
I have found a new addiction, however, to help bridge the unhappy gap, and that addiction goes by the name of C-SPAN. Now I can be further glued to my computer as I watch the Press Briefings and see the new Press Secretary sweat under the pressure of a room full of seasoned reporters waiting for even the tiniest slip-up. Poor Gibbs got slightly plowed (maybe just mowed? or weed-whacked?) this morning on the new Executive Order about lobbying. Anyone who said the liberal media was going to go easy on a new Democratic President was definitely wrong. Obama-mania is still in full swing, but the administration is by no means avoiding scrutiny by the press.
But let’s backtrack a little and talk about the inauguration itself. There was a horrible bow, a poem read (and written?) like a third grader, and a now former Vice President in a wheelchair.
But the speech! Wow. I am so thankful for a literate and charismatic President. I hope you watched it, but if you didn’t, here it is in its entirety (including the botched oath):
But what I really hope you take the time to do is to READ the speech. The language is meticulous, poignant, passionate. It was full of clever phrases to grab the audience and carefully constructed jabs at President Bush, who sat right next to the podium.
Here are a few of my favourite parts:
“These are the indicators of crisis, subject to data and statistics. Less measurable but no less profound is a sapping of confidence across our land – a nagging fear that America’s decline is inevitable, and that the next generation must lower its sights.”
“On this day, we gather because we have chosen hope over fear, unity of purpose over conflict and discord.”
“Now, there are some who question the scale of our ambitions – who suggest that our system cannot tolerate too many big plans. Their memories are short. For they have forgotten what this country has already done; what free men and women can achieve when imagination is joined to common purpose, and necessity to courage.”
“And so to all other peoples and governments who are watching today…know that America is a friend of each nation and every man, woman, and child who seeks a future of peace and dignity, and that we are ready to lead once more.” OOoo…jab jab, Dubya.
“To those who cling to power through corruption and deceit and the silencing of dissent, know that you are on the wrong side of history; but that we will extend a hand if you are willing to unclench your fist.”
“For as much as government can do and must do, it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon which this nation relies. It is the kindness to take in a stranger when the levees break, the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job which sees us through our darkest hours. It is the firefighter’s courage to storm a stairway filled with smoke, but also a parent’s willingness to nurture a child, that finally decides our fate.”
Ahhh. Refreshing.
-Erinaugural celebration
