My Heart Will Go On

 Photo Source

B:  "You know it's almost the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, right?"

G:  "Yes."

B:  "I think they're going to re-release------"

G:  "No."

B:  "But the movie----"

G:  "NO."

B:  "I'm just saying that for our first date, we saw-----"

G:  "I know.  No.  I hate that movie."

B:  "But we've now been married into the double digits!  And what are the odds that they would re-release the movie that we saw on our very first date ever?"

G:  [defiant silence]

B:  "Right before our anniversary?  What are the odds?"

G:  "The boat sank.  Get over it.  I can't stand another three hours of Leonardo di Caprio."

B:  "But that was our---"

G:  "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO."



I'm not giving up that easy.

TGIF, people!

Shakespeare and the Mega Millions (Also: Love & War Abroad)

It's all over the news in this area that the local Mega Millions Lottery is now just that - Mega Millions.  The last news report I heard (yesterday) said that the going amount is over $500,000,000.  Half a billion dollars.  Several of my coworkers and other people I know are rushing to get tickets.  Can you even imagine winning that much money?  Say the government takes its half out of the middle and you only (only - ha) end up with $200,000,000 or so.  Would you even know what to do with yourself?

Heck, yeah!  I would drop everything and travel the world with G.  But, as someone who has no lottery ticket, and therefore no dog in this fight, I can feel free to offer some cultural commentary:  I think winning the lottery could be one of the worst things to happen to someone.  I don't think anything is wrong with money, or working for money, or having money - or even wanting money, in a lot of cases.  Money lets you do a lot of good things.  It lets you have a lot of good things and experiences, and if you so choose, it allows you to provide others with many good things. 

But just from the amount of conversation and buzz around this lottery, I can see that it is affecting people.  What I mean is that it has not even happened yet and already people are consumed by the possibility - as remote and far reaching as it may be - of winning such a sum.  It's so intoxicating to think of how we would live our lives if we could get out from under these bills and financial expectations/obligations.

But I think the lottery is a Pandora's Box full of all kinds of troubles.  The first thing to go is your anonymity; you become That Lottery Winner and then everyone feels entitled to know and pass judgment on your decisions involving this new wealth.  Anonymity is a precious thing to me and I would hate to lose it, even for a lot of money.  Loss of privacy brings all kinds of unsolicited expectations from people; they will come out of the woodwork demanding, flattery, cojoling, pressing in on you.  People (unless they are blessedly close to you) will start to think differently of you because now you have money.  And money is supposed to fix everything.  Which means that you no longer have flaws or problems, and they can no longer relate to you.  You aren't who you were, and your life will never be the same.

Unless they are incredibly grounded, people cannot seem to handle extreme fame or money (and mostly, these go hand in hand).  It doesn't take long for things to unravel.  It will be interesting to see what happens around these parts in the next few days.

--------------------------------

And on a completely unrelated note, we saw the Globe Theatre in London!  It's actually the 3rd Globe Theatre.  The original - the one where Shakespeare saw his plays performed - burned down.  Another theatre was built on the same site a few years later, only to be destroyed by Puritans who opposed such base forms of entertainment.  This theatre is located about five minutes from the location of the original and is built as close to the original design as they were able to make it.  It is made from oak, carved by hand, and pegged together in the original format - no nails or modern tools of any kind were used.  They say it is so sturdy that if you removed all the pegs holding the lumber together, the building would still stand.

The Globe Theatre is an active theater (operating April - October) and is extremely colorful and comfortable, all things considered.  It even has a thatched roof!

We took a tour around the inside and outside, and I learned a lot.  G stifled yawns and politely sat still while his eyes glazed over.  I was lost in the mid-1600's, and thoughts of college.  The tour guide would intersperse her spiel with famous lines from Shakespeare's plays and it was so, so cool.

G got his revenge, though, because we went straight from the Globe Theatre to the Imperial War Museum.  I had mentally prepared myself, but I was expecting something akin to the MET.  When we pulled up to a relatively small building, I could hardly contain my glee!

G sighed, looked around, and said, "Hmmm.  I thought it would be bigger than this."  I was all, "Oh, well!  Here, go stand in front of those canons and I'll take your picture!  This place looks just lovely!"

As he milled around the tanks and jeeps and missiles and submarines, I checked out the gift shop and the cafe.  Let me tell you people - a little caffeine goes a long way.  That's all I'm sayin.

But it made me think:  we're approaching our eleventh anniversary.  I come from a broken family and we are surrounded these days by marriages that do not make it (for a variety of reasons).  One of the things that makes our marriage work is the fact that G will endure a tour of an old theater simply because I find it interesting and because the experience adds to my life.  I will wonder aimlessly through war implements for an afternoon because G has found them fascinating since he was a boy, and because his eyes light up and his hands automatically begin to gesture when he describes the turret difference between this tank and that one.  Or whatever he's talking about.

I think William Shakespeare would approve of how we spent this day.  He was a brilliant observer of people and the human condition.  He so accurately paints pictures of how we undermine our own efforts, destroy our own lives, and sometimes redeem ourselves in unexpected ways.  He would have made some kind of analogy about love and war.  And he would certainly think we've got a good thing going.  And, as he once said, All's well that ends well...

Keep Calm and Carry On

The British have a saying (that's way commercialized and is currently used on everything touristy) that goes, Keep Calm and Carry On.  It's attributed to Winston Churchill, who advised a very scared London public, in the face of being bombed to rubble by the Germans, to remain still.  Like normal.  Like life can simply move forward in the face of such chaos and fear.

I think the saying is so popular these days because it encompasses the stereotypical British stoicism.  And propensity to understate.  I also personally think it makes a great Introvert's Motto.  I bought a cute coaster and put it on my desk at work as a reminder - it's something I'm trying to do in my life this season.  Deliberately.  Intentionally.  Keeping calm has not been a strength of mine, but I'm improving.  By leaps and bounds.

This year is the celebration of the Queen's 60th year of reign.  It's known as her Diamond Jubilee and the city - the whole country - is involved in a year-long series of events and celebratory activities.  In fact, after the 2012 summer Olympics in London, the stadium will be renamed "Queen Elizabeth" stadium. 

Gotta love those monarchs.  And their formality.  There's something so "Old World" about it.

I appreciate the detail and style of European architecture and design.  It's obvious in the monuments and famous buildings, of course, but I notice it more in the every-day locations, like outside of local pubs and market places.  So many beautiful signs and flowers and pictures and witty sayings.  America is like that to a certain degree, but then again we bombard ourselves with industrial complexes and mini malls and shopping centers. 

There's something to be said for sure in praise of our efficiency and productivity.  We are very much a capitalist country comprised of an industrialized workforce and mentality.  We didn't get to where we are in the world by taking 2-hour siestas in the afternoon to smoke and drink.  (Thank you, protestant work ethic!  Thank you, Puritan foundation!)

But how I wish we could slow down.  And savor things.  Like the taste of a good glass of wine (instead of asking for the check midway through).  Like a flower box outside the window (instead of sticky fake flowers crammed in a vase on a formica table at IHOP).  Like a sunny Tuesday afternoon lunch in the park (instead of forking down a tasteless salad during a 3-hour work meeting in an enclosed conference room).

I'm just sayin.  There's something to be said for some kind of balance.  Some kind of middle ground between carpe diem and preparation for tomorrow instead of a frantic work pace and the blackberry-infested corporate culture.

This morning as I stewed in traffic, I thought to myself, was I really just in London?  Was I really in the English countryside like only 48 hours ago??  Where is my rich benefactor who will support me as I travel the world, eating my way through country after country?  Please contact me so we can get started.

Thanks.

Look kids - Big Ben! Parliament!

We just got back from a quick trip to London - 4 days.  Like the classic first-born-Type-A peeps that we are, we planned and approached this trip as an experiment.  While we live on the East Coast, we would like to hop over the Atlantic fairly regularly and see many of the sights.  But how can we do this on limited vacation time and limited funds?  Answer:  the 4-day weekend.  We took a red-eye on a Thursday night (read:  after a full day of work, therefore guaranteeing sleep on the plane) and arrived first thing on Friday morning.  We left on Monday evening and, because of the time difference, got back home late Monday night - resolving to pull our sorry butts out of bed NO MATTER WHAT and go to work like normal on Tuesday morning.

Our goal?  To see and experience as much of London during the given time period as we could.

Lesson learned - 5 shots of espresso within an hour is a VERY EFFECTIVE CURE FOR JETLAG!  I MEAN, THAT STUFF REALLY WORKS!  WHEN YOU ARE USED TO ONLY A SMIDGEN OF CAFFEINE IN THE DAY, THIS DOSAGE WILL CEEEEERTAINLY KEEP YOU AWAKE AS LONG AS YOU NEED.

Big Ben!  Parliament!

Lesson learned - no trashcans.  Before I left, a coworker told me to watch out, that we would have a hard time finding trash cans in London.  I was like, OK, thanks.  Then a mere 24 hours later, I was all, "THERE ARE NOOOOOOOOOOO TRASHCANS IN THIS CITY!  Like, anywhere!  What the CRAP?"

Be prepared to cart your rubbish with you at all times, my friends.  Cuz you ain't finding a trashcan!  We think this is because of the IRA attacks around the city in the past; apparently the terrorists placed bombs in trashcans.  So, no trashcans, no bombs...

We never looked more like dumb American tourists than we did when we would descend upon the rare rubbish bin with uncontained glee.

The classic cab.  Just for irony's sake - notice the rubbish bin in the background.  Rare, they are.  Rare.

The London Eye.

The Tower Bridge - probably my favorite British touristy site.

We lucked out with some great weather.  It was unseasonably warm and sunny during our entire trip.  Several people told us that the weather was nicer than it usually is in the summer.

It was nice not to have access to our phones (they don't work on England's global service network).  It felt odd at first, and we each had freak-out moments of thinking we'd lost our phones somewhere, but I have to say that it's fascinating how good it feels to be disconnected.  For a bit.  Then of course I'm texting and blogging as soon as I get back.  :)

St. James Park.

By Buckingham Palace.

Stonehenge!  Who knew it was right outside London?

The trip was a much-needed (quick) break and a real blessing.  More pics and stories to come!  In the meantime, I must catch up on Vampire Diaries!  And Mad Men!  And Hunger Games!

Got it

Before:

The design.  This was placed on my arm (like a stamp) and served as a general guide for the inking process.

The draft.

During:

It actually didn't hurt that bad.  It doesn't feel like a needle.  It feels more like someone is dragging a very hot blade over your skin.  But they take breaks very frequently, which cuts the pain.

The actual tattoo process only took about 5 minutes.

After:

I'm like, so hard core.

A day later - no pain at all!

Some fun facts about my tattoo experience:

**The needle hits your skin 130 times per second.  Um, that's a lot.  Which explains why it feels constant, not like a bunch of pin pricking, but more like a searing.  Attractive, no?

**Although I was going for a very simple tattoo, when I saw his drawing of my design, I thought it was too simple.  He told me that it was just a guideline and I specified a couple of things that I wanted, and he did exactly that.  I'm very pleased that he listened to me (between smoke breaks) and did what I wanted.

**It took him about 20 minutes to set everything up for the tattoo - exponentially longer than actually giving it to me.  All of the devices that are single-use were taken out of their sterile packages right in front of me (gloves, needles, alcohol wipes, vitamin A&D ointment).  He disinfected and wrapped the arm of the chair before we started as well.  I felt very comfortable.

**I was never nervous.  Never.  But put me on a plane?  Heart rate goes up!  The PleaseGods start.  This makes no sense.  I readily admit that.

**I'm really glad I did it.  No regrets - which validates the experience for me.  As long as I've been hemming and hawing about this, it's a relief, and sort of a thrill, to look at it and be genuinely pleased with it.

**That said, I will soooooo be covering it up any time I visit my family.  My Gama would die a thousand deaths if she knew - not so much about me getting a tattoo, but more that I went to a place called "Dr. Sin's" to do it.  If she saw these pictures, she would die.  Literally.  My mom would think I'd lost my mind and was on the fast track to hell.  So we'll just keep this a secret.  You know, here on the internet.

**As he was setting up and I was getting settled in the chair, a grandmotherly woman emerged from the other room and I could see her paying.  I was like, ????????  I couldn't help myself, so I called out to her, "Ma'am?  Did you get a tattoo?"  Guys - she looked like a Sunday School teacher.  If I'm lyin' I'm dyin'.  She grinned at me and walked into the room and lifted up her khaki capri pants and low and behold she had flowers and vines wrapping up her leg, from her ankle to about mid-calf.  It took like 7 hours to do.  All of a sudden I didn't feel so bad@ss about my itty bitty bird.  :)  She was way cool, though!

I'm getting a tattoo today

Yes, really.

It may surprise you to know that I've actually thought of getting a tattoo - off and on - for years.  I've always talked myself out of it for one reason or another.  Is it safe?  What would I get?  Where?  Is there anything I want badly enough to embed it into my skin forever?  And it always felt like the right decision not to get one.

Until recently.

The "tattoo nagging" in my mind ratcheted up to full force about a year ago and I've tried ever since then to squelch the idea.  I'm just not a tattoo kind of person.  But, a few weeks ago I was watching VAMPIRE DIARIES (yes I ADMIT IT) and a small dainty tattoo caught my eye.  And I thought - that's it.  I'm getting that one.

And you know what?  The decision feels good.  It feels right.  I told a couple of coworkers today and they were practically ecstatic once I convinced them that I wasn't kidding.  One of my coworkers, a real buzzkill, started to shake his head and describe the myriad of professional problems I'll have, since this tattoo will be in a visible spot.

The thing is, I get it.  I bet you I could list even more reasons than he can why I shouldn't get one.  He's certainly not telling me anything I don't already know.  But I've lived my entire life talking myself out of many, many things.  I was not the rebellious teenager who died my hair purple.  I was not the college student who got blitzed on spring break in Padre Island and ended up with a couple of piercings and an STD.  I was (and still am) a girl with my head in a book and with a thousand and one justifications for conservativism over any sort of activity or display that would be considered over the top.  It's just my personality.

I just happen to also want to go on an African safari and go hang gliding and, you know, get inked.  But of course I already ordered the cover-up concealer for those important, public, days in the office.  Because, you know, that's also how I roll.

Cheers!  Pics to come!

Fuzzy

So my For-Real niece, Jules, turns one soon.  We got her a ton of books, of course.  As I was wrapping them tonight I had one of those reflective moments about my life.  Here I was, wrapping books for my niece, who is Italian.  Who would have seen that coming?  I'm from the south, so it's not as if I envisioned my future to be very...ethnic.

As I was wrapping them on the dining room table, a bright yellow color caught my eye - my high school phone directory.  Why, you may be asking, do I still have that?  First, let's take a trip down memory lane - remember when people actually used phone directories?  Like, before the internet?  Like, before cell phones that stored all numbers in electronic memory?  Yeah, the olden days.

My mom is cleaning out a bunch of my childhood stuff and has been sending it to me in random boxes.  The latest box included this high school directory whose cover was designed by...yours truly.  Never in a million, bajillion years would I have remembered how artistic I used to be.  Honestly, if she hadn't sent me a box full of stuff, I never would have remembered it.  Not only did I draw, but I entered into competitions and often won.  I don't know what's more disturbing:  the fact that this artistic talent obviously flew the coop or the fact that I completely forgot this attribute of my younger self.  Yikes.  If any of you watch famous movies from the nineties and see me acting in them, please give me a buzz...I could use the royalties for Africa.

So not only is my future fuzzy, (in a couple more years, what other new people will be in my life?  What presents will I be wrapping then?), but apparently, so is my past...

Movie Review: John Carter

Went to see "John Carter" this afternoon (alone, of course--I probably couldn't have paid B to go see it with me, which I'm sure surprises none of you).  Briefly:  the movie is based on the book Princess of Mars, written by Edgar Rice Burroughs and published in 1912.  Princess of Mars is, I believe, the first book of 11 or 12 books about John Carter, an American Civil War veteran who is mysteriously transported from Earth in the late 1860's to Mars, and thrust into the middle of a power struggle between two warring cities.

I went to the movie expecting to be mildly entertained--after all, it's got airships, aliens, swordfighting, and it's on MARS, for crying out loud--so how could I NOT go see it in the theater?  It turned out to be a pretty good movie, and different from what the previews made it out to be.

But one thing that stood out to me, that I thought about on the way home from the theater:  there was very little in the way of gore, violence, sex, and profanity.  I feel as if we have come to accept those things, or a combination thereof, as being part and parcel of a "good" movie; or at least, that they will play a part in pretty much any movie we see.  This is a Disney movie, so that may partially explain it.  Of the four, in this movie there was really only gore and violence, and even that was pretty mild compared to standard movie theater fare.  There was a lot of fighting and shooting and hand-to-hand combat, but it was more from an "overview" perspective than up close and personal (similar to "Lord of the Rings", if that makes sense).  And, what gore and violence there was fit into the story; it wasn't gratuitous.

Now, don't get me wrong--I'm a fan of gore and violence, if it makes sense (like in "Gladiator", one of my all time favorites) and isn't ridiculously over-the-top (like 300).  But it was refreshing to see a good, action-filled movie without the director feeling as if he had to pander to the audience's baser tastes to get people into the theater.  The lead male character was headstrong and stubborn, but didn't lace every sentence with 4-letter words; the lead female character was defiant and brash, but wasn't disrobing in every other scene; and the violence, when it came, was necessary and integral to the story.

I would definitely recommend seeing this movie.  I think now I'll have to quickly push through what I'm reading so I can get to the first book in the John Carter series.

And by the way--the airships were COOL.

TGIF, people!

Transitions (Or: Beginning-to-Mid Life Crises)

My brother is coming out in a couple of weeks to spend his spring break with us.  This is something he used to do each year, when he was younger, those last years of high school and beginning years of college.  But then his social life took off and trips to Florida and the beach replaced trips to see us, which is cool.

So I never planned on seeing him this year.  Never gave it a moment's notice or even knew when his break was - then he called and said that he and his girlfriend are coming to stay with us.  Yay!

My brother is a senior in college, a Computer Science/Engineering major with a math minor, and I soooooo do not envy him the path that lies ahead.  He is in that stage of trying to find internships, trying to plan the last year of school, saying goodbye to some friends who are graduating and moving away, watching the first of his group of friends marry off, and trying to juggle his own serious relationship in light of the future.  Will it lead to marriage?  If so, when?  And what about jobs?  And where will he/they live?...I don't miss those days.

I loved college.  I loved getting to live in an environment that was structured around learning.  It was intoxicating to me and even though I was stressed and overwhelmed a lot of the time, campus was a place where I fit in.  I knew I was supposed to be there.  It was just right for me.  I loved long conversations with friends, late nights in coffee joints, and that pervasive feeling of just knowing you are right.  About everything.  No one in the history of the world has ever been as right as you are now.  The future is yours for the taking and although your present life is great, it's almost as if your life hasn't yet begun.  You live for four years on the cusp.

But even while I was in college and enjoying it, I bristled when adults would shake their heads, gaze off into space and say, "These are the best years of your life."  I was always like, no, no, no.  I understood what they meant (see previous paragraph).  I understood that the traditional college experience is one of not having to worry about bills, or marriage, or the kids, or losing your job, or that sketchy X-ray from the doctor's office.  In comparison to "real life," college is a dream.

But from my know-it-all perspective back then, I would fire back that college is also a time of never really being finished with anything.  You cram for a test, only to pass it and have another one right around the corner.  You finish a 25-page paper just in time to get the next one started for your thesis advisor to review.  Your English Lit teacher assigns a classic novel each week and couldn't care less that your Western Civ II prof is doing the same thing - oh, and so is your Psychology TA.  I looked at working adults as people who worked for 8 hours a day and then were done.  They didn't go home and study until all hours of the night like I did.

It's not that I didn't enjoy college - it's just that I thought their nostalgia was a bit exaggerated and unrealistic.  And actually, I still do.  I've never had a conversation with my brother and thought to myself, ahhhhh, these are the best years of his life.  No.

But hearkening back a moment to that post on Passion, I do miss learning at the rate that I did in college.  It was like the whole world opened up and I was exposed to new ideas constantly and I could form opinions about them, and consider them.  I learn now, but I have to make a point of it.  I have to fit in reading around the drudgery of my "day job" and traffic and paying the bills and monitoring the kidney stone.  You know I had to get that in here somehow.

But no one is walking into my office and pondering existentialism or running an idea past me about historical revisionist interpretations of Holocaust literature.  I'm just sayin.  You know what I mean?  Can someone give me an Amen?

I can't wait to see my brother and his girlfriend, though!  Fun times!

Tis the season

Getting Our Fix (Or: On Being a Travel Junkie, Part II)

We are soooooooo hooked.

Hooked on travel!  Works for us!

During the last two days of my Vampire Diary frenzy, I had to resort to asking G to buy additional Microsoft points because I had to go through his X-Box in order to watch the Season 3 episodes.  Humbling.  G held the controller just out of my reach and said, "You're an addict!  I need to hear it!"  Thinking I could easily appease him, I said, "Yeah yeah!  I'm an addict!  Let me have it!"  He raised the controller another inch and growled, "I need to hear the words."

I broke.  "OK!  I AM ADDICTED TO VAMPIRE DIARIES.  There, I said it!  Gimme the controller!"

This is our life, people.  We are very mature like this.

Well, now we're in the same addict boat, The Travel Boat, our eyes darting rapidly about and our hands shaking.  We found a travel agent to help us plan the Africa trip and we finally, finally met her over the weekend.  Every other trip we've done, even the international ones, have been on our own, but we knew that for Africa we were out of our element.  So we did some research (read:  G did some research and I ate cheese its and watched VD) and found an Africa, adventure travel expert.  This has our names written all. over. it.

Because traffic sucks in this area and we're all in different locations, she agreed to meet us during her off hours over the weekend in order to let us gaze into her beady little eyes and know that we could trust her with all this money and time and planning and with our very lives in the future.  She's very, very cool.  Her name is Michelle and she was a lawyer up until about 5 years ago (she's gotta be well into her sixties - very fit and ON IT) when she decided she wanted to see the world and help others see it too.  She's been to Africa several times, and she's done the types of "adventures" we want to do, so we tried mightily to stay on our high horses for like 2 minutes before we totally caved and were eating out of her expert hands. 

Junkies indeed.

Michelle:  "You're spending this day in Capetown and going here and doing this.  You'll love it.  The next day you'll do the Great White Shark cage off the coast.  The following day will be back in Capetown for this, this, and this."

G:  "Well, what about hiking in Capetown?"

Michelle:  (Batting away his question like a pesky tse-tse fly) "You can hike here.  You're not hiking in Capetown.  You're shopping and exploring there.  Ok?  Right.  Moving on..."

We didn't even know how to handle ourselves.  Still bristling a bit from being completely rolled over, we entered the conversation once more.

Michelle:  "In order to see the city and recover from your jetlag, I arranged an all day tour of the local sites--"

G:  (interruping her)  "Um, will this be a bus tour?  Or a van tour?"

Michelle:  (non plussed) "No, G.  This will be the private car I've arranged for you, with your own private driver.  That's what this is."

------

------

G:  (gulp)  "Right.  Ok, continue."

------

We are HOOOOOOOOOOOOKED!  Can't even wait!

And we're celebrating!

We've made a weekend of the celebrating.  Nothing says, "We're going to Africa!" like calories, people.

G said, "We should go into the city for a celebratory Indian brunch," and I fell to my knees in gratitude.  This is the equivalent of me saying something like, "I think I want to play chess today.  Naked."  It just...doesn't happen.  When - nay, if - it does happen, you just don't question it.  So I shucked my corn, called it November, and went to a fabulous brunch in the city this morning!

**

We braved the traffic,

And the construction,

And the chaos,

To enjoy the beginning of spring,

And to see a few sites from the car.

And I'm sososo happyhappyhappy.

Here's to Africa.  Here's to the next big adventure.

((**P.S. This is my $5 thrift blouse I snapped up for the Valentines season.  Not bad, huh?))