Shocking, I know. But it has actually been nice up here since my arrival last week--no, better than nice.
I've spent this past week trying to do little more than love college and settle into my new apartment. I'm living with 5 of the most diverse ladies you could ever imagine.
There's Ashley, my roommate extraordinaire, who somehow manages to exude equal amounts collected maturity when laughing about poop as she does when discussing neurological rehabilitation.
There's Rachel, who has really taken on the job of making our house a home. Without Rachel I'm pretty sure we'd be far less organized and far more dysfunctional.
There's Carol, who will probably be on top of the Forbes Most-Powerful list within the decade, and is the only one in the house who cannot STAND musical theatre.
There's Bekah, who majors in physical therapy, holds three jobs, TAs in SEA KAYAKING at Cornell, and still manages to find time to serenade us on her ukelele.
And there's Maddy, who tells the absolute funniest stories I have ever heard, runs more than anyone I've ever met, and somehow manages to climb up the front balcony when she gets locked out.
This week I've taken advantage of Ithaca and just enjoyed hanging with my roommates. On Monday, the women's team went on a hike through Buttermilk Falls. Given the incline of the hike, it was more of a climb. I was sore for days. On Wednesday, we cruelly had our first 30 minute piece. I assume it was supposed to be a sick "happy first day of classes!" present. I destroyed it, and became relieved that all that running in the DC humidity this summer seems to be paying off.
On Saturday, we took advantage of the heat and went swimming in the gorges. I haven't taken enough time over my four years to appreciate the incredible nature around Ithaca. Nothing caps off a summer like swimming under a waterfall.
Sunday, by some strange twist of fate, I got wrapped into an all-day beach volleyball tournament. Yes, we have a sand court on campus. No, I do not know how to play volleyball. Yes, I actually kind of figured it out. No, I do not have any sort of future in this sport. However, it was a hilarious and exhausting experience, and I'm glad I did it. If you're wondering, my team lost in the finals.
On Monday we ran a timed mile and I ran nearly 3 minutes faster than I ever did in high school. Really. I mean, sure, I was originally quite terrible, but that's pretty darn cool, right?
And then on Tuesday I got paired with my fellow tall blonde teammate Tessa to scull a double. We were excited because Becky assigned us to the super new, thin, fast, flashy WinTech. It was actually our downfall, because:
1. I have sculled with other people probably twice in my life.
and
2. Tessa had one of her oarlocks backwards
and
3. The two of us enjoyed distracting each other like the 4 year olds we are.
and
4. The thing was like the weight of a pen.
and
5. I don't even know.
All of these factors are what I assume led the two of us to flip into Cayuga's grimy waters on a gray, chilly Ithaca afternoon. Only our egos were hurt, and we laughed the whole rest of practice. Even with the cold.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Thursday, August 25, 2011
The Odyssey: Earthquake Edition
At first I thought someone was just kicking the desk. The interns are in a tiny office, we’re used to things like that. Then, things began to slide. The shaking grew stronger. The three of us looked at each other, in a “It’s not just me, right?” moment. Quiet. Papers float lazily to the floor.
The Congressman appears in the doorway. “Guys, we gotta go.”
The staff is already in the hallway. They’ve had emergency training, and that training says to either hide or run. When you’re on the 7th floor like us, you run.
It’s not until I see the faces surrounding me as people flood down the stairs that everything goes cold and all I think about is my hand grasping the rail and my feet tapping the marble stairs. Once outside, everyone whips out their cell phones and find out that it wasn’t an attack--it was an earthquake.
I don’t whip out my cellphone, because all my phone does is call people, and it was also with all of my belongings still in the office. It was almost amusing watching the masses of congressional staffers exclaim, “Oh no! MY BLACKBERRIES!” practically in unison.
A half-hour later, we were still outside and the wait wasn’t looking promising. The initially terrifying situation turned into an excuse to party. Staffers passed us carrying boxes of Coronas and Bud Light from the nearby liquor store. We started brainstorming possible headlines and the inevitable puns that would be used throughout the news for days to come. Their favorite possibility was “Congressman Returns to Save Interns!”
Waiting outside was getting, well, hot. Luckily, this is DC and everyone has connections. And this is how I ended up in former Congressman Moore’s townhouse, taking refuge from the sun. The Congressman and his wife were just about the sweetest people I have ever met, and they took an entire office of people they hadn’t met before, gave the older ones beers and the younger ones, like myself, colas.
Once we were notified that the offices wouldn’t be opening until late that night, I decided I had to strike out on my own to find my father. I borrowed a phone to call Dad, who gave me simple directions which unfortunately involved roads that were closed (Independence) and roads that didn’t actually connect to Independence at all. These understandable mishaps, combined with my horrible-terrible sense of direction, resulted in my wandering southwest DC for quite some time--moneyless, phoneless, slightly panicky, and in extremely uncomfortable shoes. Finally, the good folks at the Department of Education were able to give me good directions, and I shuffled up to my Dad’s office, cranky and tired. He did his fatherly duty and sent me on my way with a metro card, a phone, and an old copy of “Sports Illustrated.”
The metro, which typically experiences delays if someone sneezes in Virginia, was shockingly still running. It was going at an extremely reduced speed. This is understandable, because there was like, um, an earthquake or whatever. But it still took me so long to get home that my dad, who left far after I did, beat me home on his bike. I immediately collapsed on the couch. That is how most of my stories end.
Thus ends my own personal Odyssey, alternatively titled: “How I survived an earthquake and got evacuated and went to a congressman’s house and then got lost in uncomfortable shoes.”
The Congressman appears in the doorway. “Guys, we gotta go.”
The staff is already in the hallway. They’ve had emergency training, and that training says to either hide or run. When you’re on the 7th floor like us, you run.
It’s not until I see the faces surrounding me as people flood down the stairs that everything goes cold and all I think about is my hand grasping the rail and my feet tapping the marble stairs. Once outside, everyone whips out their cell phones and find out that it wasn’t an attack--it was an earthquake.
I don’t whip out my cellphone, because all my phone does is call people, and it was also with all of my belongings still in the office. It was almost amusing watching the masses of congressional staffers exclaim, “Oh no! MY BLACKBERRIES!” practically in unison.
A half-hour later, we were still outside and the wait wasn’t looking promising. The initially terrifying situation turned into an excuse to party. Staffers passed us carrying boxes of Coronas and Bud Light from the nearby liquor store. We started brainstorming possible headlines and the inevitable puns that would be used throughout the news for days to come. Their favorite possibility was “Congressman Returns to Save Interns!”
Waiting outside was getting, well, hot. Luckily, this is DC and everyone has connections. And this is how I ended up in former Congressman Moore’s townhouse, taking refuge from the sun. The Congressman and his wife were just about the sweetest people I have ever met, and they took an entire office of people they hadn’t met before, gave the older ones beers and the younger ones, like myself, colas.
Once we were notified that the offices wouldn’t be opening until late that night, I decided I had to strike out on my own to find my father. I borrowed a phone to call Dad, who gave me simple directions which unfortunately involved roads that were closed (Independence) and roads that didn’t actually connect to Independence at all. These understandable mishaps, combined with my horrible-terrible sense of direction, resulted in my wandering southwest DC for quite some time--moneyless, phoneless, slightly panicky, and in extremely uncomfortable shoes. Finally, the good folks at the Department of Education were able to give me good directions, and I shuffled up to my Dad’s office, cranky and tired. He did his fatherly duty and sent me on my way with a metro card, a phone, and an old copy of “Sports Illustrated.”
The metro, which typically experiences delays if someone sneezes in Virginia, was shockingly still running. It was going at an extremely reduced speed. This is understandable, because there was like, um, an earthquake or whatever. But it still took me so long to get home that my dad, who left far after I did, beat me home on his bike. I immediately collapsed on the couch. That is how most of my stories end.
Thus ends my own personal Odyssey, alternatively titled: “How I survived an earthquake and got evacuated and went to a congressman’s house and then got lost in uncomfortable shoes.”
Saturday, August 13, 2011
It's Recess, Nothing's Really Happening In Congress, right? RIGHT??!?
Some of the hallways in the Longworth House Office Building are so quiet it's eerie. Your footsteps sound like thunder because everything around you seems to be made from marble. In the depths of the Capitol, the atmosphere changes. All the buildings and the Capitol itself are connected by underground tunnels, and once you reach the basement or subbasement, it definitely feels a little Chamber-of-Secrets-y.
The past two weeks of my life have been more hectic than I could have even imagined. It's a blur of metro tracks and computer screens, long hallways and a million phone calls. The sounds are echoing footsteps, the bustle of tourists, and millions upon millions of people screaming in my ear.
Working in Congress has at once restored some of my faith in democracy but also has destroyed large portions of my faith in humanity. See, we take every single call. We listen to what you say. Those phone calls are logged and are actually considered by your representatives. Really. Calling your Congressman is NOT an act of futility. What is an act of futility is being mean. My first goddamn day was the day of the budget vote. I understood the frustration and the anger people were feeling, but seriously, I have never heard such disgusting language and I am in COLLEGE.
I spend hours a day hearing vile and untrue things be said about my President and my Congressman. But I also spend hours a day getting calls with advice. With insight. With ideas. There are many callers who respectfully disagree with the government's actions, and their counterpoints often change my perspective. For every barrage of hatred there is a caller whose frustration empowers her to create instead of destroy. And, seriously, those calls keep me sane.
I recently completed my other internship for the summer, and I will be eternally grateful for that experience. My two, well, I guess they were my bosses, took me all over. They taught me a new language, introduced me to a whole political community, and showed me how day to day politics worked. I love a world where your pulse can rise and fall with the tempo of events, how your convictions and ideals can become your life's work, and how sometimes, you win. It's a marathon instead of a sprint, and you often get headaches, but sometimes you win. And that's good enough.
This summer isn't over just yet, but it has brought my hope for the future sharply into focus. It helped me prioritize what I want and what I need. It pretty much robbed me of any relaxation or social life, sure, but you find your happiness in the moments of rest. My hours on the metro's plastic seats have been spent with Fitzgerald, Plath, Hemingway, Steinbeck, Larsson, Franzen, Kerouac, Enger, and others I'm totally too embarrassed to admit or can't even remember.
And I did get to reconnect with many of my friends. I went to high school with them, sure, but I can't totally label them that way. These ones are in it for the long haul, no matter how crazy our schedules get and how differently our paths twist and turn, and regardless of the country we happen to be in. Last week, as we got together to say goodbye to Claire for the semester, the only time our free time overlapped was 9:30pm on a Tuesday.
Welcome to adulthood.
The past two weeks of my life have been more hectic than I could have even imagined. It's a blur of metro tracks and computer screens, long hallways and a million phone calls. The sounds are echoing footsteps, the bustle of tourists, and millions upon millions of people screaming in my ear.
Working in Congress has at once restored some of my faith in democracy but also has destroyed large portions of my faith in humanity. See, we take every single call. We listen to what you say. Those phone calls are logged and are actually considered by your representatives. Really. Calling your Congressman is NOT an act of futility. What is an act of futility is being mean. My first goddamn day was the day of the budget vote. I understood the frustration and the anger people were feeling, but seriously, I have never heard such disgusting language and I am in COLLEGE.
I spend hours a day hearing vile and untrue things be said about my President and my Congressman. But I also spend hours a day getting calls with advice. With insight. With ideas. There are many callers who respectfully disagree with the government's actions, and their counterpoints often change my perspective. For every barrage of hatred there is a caller whose frustration empowers her to create instead of destroy. And, seriously, those calls keep me sane.
I recently completed my other internship for the summer, and I will be eternally grateful for that experience. My two, well, I guess they were my bosses, took me all over. They taught me a new language, introduced me to a whole political community, and showed me how day to day politics worked. I love a world where your pulse can rise and fall with the tempo of events, how your convictions and ideals can become your life's work, and how sometimes, you win. It's a marathon instead of a sprint, and you often get headaches, but sometimes you win. And that's good enough.
This summer isn't over just yet, but it has brought my hope for the future sharply into focus. It helped me prioritize what I want and what I need. It pretty much robbed me of any relaxation or social life, sure, but you find your happiness in the moments of rest. My hours on the metro's plastic seats have been spent with Fitzgerald, Plath, Hemingway, Steinbeck, Larsson, Franzen, Kerouac, Enger, and others I'm totally too embarrassed to admit or can't even remember.
And I did get to reconnect with many of my friends. I went to high school with them, sure, but I can't totally label them that way. These ones are in it for the long haul, no matter how crazy our schedules get and how differently our paths twist and turn, and regardless of the country we happen to be in. Last week, as we got together to say goodbye to Claire for the semester, the only time our free time overlapped was 9:30pm on a Tuesday.
Welcome to adulthood.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
My Family Humors Me: Zillionth Edition
Let's be real. I am, in general, a pretty good kid. Heck, I'd even give me a few gold stars.
But, then....there are somethings that I feel I must commend my family members for putting up with. I came up with this idea yesterday, when my Dad asked me if we had a dinner plan. "Yes!" I said. He replied warily, "Err...does it involve meat?"
See, my sister is a vegetarian. A straight-up vegetarian. Not one of those that's like, I eat fish/chicken/burgers if the craving strikes me. When I took it upon myself to plan meals frequently this summer, I decided I was too damn lazy to figure out meals that could be both veggie and omnivorous. I also consider myself a bit of a flexitarian, which basically means I try to avoid meat but don't have the strength of moral character to sacrifice the glorious deliciousness that is a cheeseburger. So, I thought to myself, this is the perfect chance for me to expand my family's vegetarian food boundaries beyond pizza toppings and that stuff in Chipotle! I made the decision that I was going to become a master chef.
Oh, my god. Seriously, my poor, poor, family. They are super nice about it, and supportive because hey, at least someone is cooking, but honestly. This is harder than it looks. First off, I am not big on directions. Or measurements. The most frequent unit of measurement I use is "hey, that seems right--ish!" I also rarely have all the ingredients for any recipe, and the substitutions or just complete omissions have made this a very interesting ride. But my lovely family has smiled and eaten and said it's great and all that. But in reality, this has really been an exercise in discovering that if your recipe fails to produce any sort of flavor, douse it in Parmesan cheese. It has certainly worked for us.
So this summer my family has eaten far more chickpeas, zucchini, and failed white wine reductions than they ever thought possible.
But don't worry--yesterday we had a side of chicken strips. And they were even breaded. It was the tastiest thing to come out of our oven in ages, and it also came out of a bag.
But, then....there are somethings that I feel I must commend my family members for putting up with. I came up with this idea yesterday, when my Dad asked me if we had a dinner plan. "Yes!" I said. He replied warily, "Err...does it involve meat?"
See, my sister is a vegetarian. A straight-up vegetarian. Not one of those that's like, I eat fish/chicken/burgers if the craving strikes me. When I took it upon myself to plan meals frequently this summer, I decided I was too damn lazy to figure out meals that could be both veggie and omnivorous. I also consider myself a bit of a flexitarian, which basically means I try to avoid meat but don't have the strength of moral character to sacrifice the glorious deliciousness that is a cheeseburger. So, I thought to myself, this is the perfect chance for me to expand my family's vegetarian food boundaries beyond pizza toppings and that stuff in Chipotle! I made the decision that I was going to become a master chef.
Oh, my god. Seriously, my poor, poor, family. They are super nice about it, and supportive because hey, at least someone is cooking, but honestly. This is harder than it looks. First off, I am not big on directions. Or measurements. The most frequent unit of measurement I use is "hey, that seems right--ish!" I also rarely have all the ingredients for any recipe, and the substitutions or just complete omissions have made this a very interesting ride. But my lovely family has smiled and eaten and said it's great and all that. But in reality, this has really been an exercise in discovering that if your recipe fails to produce any sort of flavor, douse it in Parmesan cheese. It has certainly worked for us.
So this summer my family has eaten far more chickpeas, zucchini, and failed white wine reductions than they ever thought possible.
But don't worry--yesterday we had a side of chicken strips. And they were even breaded. It was the tastiest thing to come out of our oven in ages, and it also came out of a bag.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
It's In Reach
Monday I attended a reception on Capitol Hill. I shook hands and took cards from all sorts of people--from Estonia, to Tanzania, to Mexico, to Texas. I was the youngest person in the room by a minimum of ten years. I was also definitely the tallest. This internship has given me so much already, and I know I am lucky. One reason I know? I am the only intern everywhere I go. I am lucky that my bosses bring me along. It's not typical, and it's not expected. I am very, very lucky.
My responsibilities entailed snatching up anyone who looked awkward, hesitant to approach anyone. Usually, this IS me. I should let you know that I am horrible at meeting people. Actually, terrible. Small talk and tennis are two things I will never master.Also, the language barrier sometimes made things even more difficult. But, I sucked up the awkward and got over it. I'm an adult!
As strange as it is being the undergrad in a sea of PhDs, yesterday grounded something for me. It was an amazing feeling to introduce myself as someone affiliated with an organization. Two months ago I knew absolutely nothing about transparency or the non-profit advocacy world. I'm learning, getting better each day, and part of me knows I could do this. I. Could. DO. This. For so long, especially as a politics major, I've had only a fuzzy vision of what the day to day political and policy world entailed. I knew theory, textbooks, the arguments over cable news, but I couldn't see what spending a day in the office would be like, how long 9 to 5 feels, if it actually ever feels like what you're doing makes a difference. The biggest question I had in my mind was if I would ever be able to be taken seriously.
That evening it was evident that I was very young, but people still listened when I talked, nodded sometimes in agreement, and didn't try to escape my incoherent babbling. I'm so far away from being an expert at anything, but I've gained confidence that I could. I left the reception late and walked to Union Station to metro home. I walked past Senate office buildings, through manicured little gardens, and fancy statues. Standing in front of Union Station feels no different to me than gawking at the ornate decorations of Europe. There's that same sense of grandeur. The difference now is that I feel like I could live within it, hopefully without entirely sacrificing that childhood-mystery we all at some point feel for cities.
At the end of August, I'll head back to school one last time and relish in my cocoon. Ithaca College is one of my favorite places on earth. But by May, I think I'll be just enough prepared to break free.
My responsibilities entailed snatching up anyone who looked awkward, hesitant to approach anyone. Usually, this IS me. I should let you know that I am horrible at meeting people. Actually, terrible. Small talk and tennis are two things I will never master.Also, the language barrier sometimes made things even more difficult. But, I sucked up the awkward and got over it. I'm an adult!
As strange as it is being the undergrad in a sea of PhDs, yesterday grounded something for me. It was an amazing feeling to introduce myself as someone affiliated with an organization. Two months ago I knew absolutely nothing about transparency or the non-profit advocacy world. I'm learning, getting better each day, and part of me knows I could do this. I. Could. DO. This. For so long, especially as a politics major, I've had only a fuzzy vision of what the day to day political and policy world entailed. I knew theory, textbooks, the arguments over cable news, but I couldn't see what spending a day in the office would be like, how long 9 to 5 feels, if it actually ever feels like what you're doing makes a difference. The biggest question I had in my mind was if I would ever be able to be taken seriously.
That evening it was evident that I was very young, but people still listened when I talked, nodded sometimes in agreement, and didn't try to escape my incoherent babbling. I'm so far away from being an expert at anything, but I've gained confidence that I could. I left the reception late and walked to Union Station to metro home. I walked past Senate office buildings, through manicured little gardens, and fancy statues. Standing in front of Union Station feels no different to me than gawking at the ornate decorations of Europe. There's that same sense of grandeur. The difference now is that I feel like I could live within it, hopefully without entirely sacrificing that childhood-mystery we all at some point feel for cities.
At the end of August, I'll head back to school one last time and relish in my cocoon. Ithaca College is one of my favorite places on earth. But by May, I think I'll be just enough prepared to break free.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
This Weekend, Sounds, and Sentiments
The summer onslaught of adult-like duties and expectations can be a little overwhelming. I went from feeling fancy if I wore jeans to wearing some type of skirt every day. My days feel long, but my free time is bursting at the seems. Workouts, socialization, rest, and some sort of self-maintenance are crammed into the few hours not spent commuting or staring endlessly at a computer and trying to understand what the heck this bulletin is saying.
I knew that four days off would be good for me--a chance to trade the concrete skylines and hazy humidity of Washington, DC, for some crisp air and ever-appropriate barefootedness in at the lake. Two of my closest friends from school were trekking all the way from New York to visit.
This place, and these people, have this incredible ability to breathe new life into me. This weekend I felt suspended in a untouchable innocence. Every smile was eye-curlingly genuine, each tear-inducing laugh was from the gut. The sun, when it chose to make an appearance, felt like a layer of blankets. The water was cold enough to make your heart jump into your throat, but not too chilly that you didn't get used to it. The rain and drizzle felt like a cocoon.
It is a running joke that Ashley and Rachel, two of my housemates in Ithaca, are my family. After this weekend it became apparent that this is no joke at all. Their friendship to me is that familial bundle of innocent joy and playfulness, combined with a concern applied like a comforting arm around your shoulder. The sounds of the weekend paints it better than anything: Bon Jovi songs muffled the splashing water and whipping wind, the crackling of fire, the proclamation of vendettas over Monopoly and card games, the clinking of ice in glasses, and the giggling that pervaded it all.
I am so lucky to have this place and these people. My family--both real and newly acquired--will always be there to help me take a step back, to take a deep breath, and appreciate the now instead of fretting about the future.
I knew that four days off would be good for me--a chance to trade the concrete skylines and hazy humidity of Washington, DC, for some crisp air and ever-appropriate barefootedness in at the lake. Two of my closest friends from school were trekking all the way from New York to visit.
This place, and these people, have this incredible ability to breathe new life into me. This weekend I felt suspended in a untouchable innocence. Every smile was eye-curlingly genuine, each tear-inducing laugh was from the gut. The sun, when it chose to make an appearance, felt like a layer of blankets. The water was cold enough to make your heart jump into your throat, but not too chilly that you didn't get used to it. The rain and drizzle felt like a cocoon.
It is a running joke that Ashley and Rachel, two of my housemates in Ithaca, are my family. After this weekend it became apparent that this is no joke at all. Their friendship to me is that familial bundle of innocent joy and playfulness, combined with a concern applied like a comforting arm around your shoulder. The sounds of the weekend paints it better than anything: Bon Jovi songs muffled the splashing water and whipping wind, the crackling of fire, the proclamation of vendettas over Monopoly and card games, the clinking of ice in glasses, and the giggling that pervaded it all.
I am so lucky to have this place and these people. My family--both real and newly acquired--will always be there to help me take a step back, to take a deep breath, and appreciate the now instead of fretting about the future.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Turmoil in the Household
Our little family is slowly remembering how to function. It's a little messy after we've been at school for so long--Claire stayed in Troy last summer and I didn't come home for spring break. Having four of us at once is a little stressful--especially given my penchant for leaving my stuff everywhere and Claire's habit of yelling at me about it.
Naturally, disagreements happen. The most recent has grave implications. And it involves Netflix.
This is the type of stuff Edward Albee would write plays about these days. Instead of marital strife, awkward dinner parties, and drunkeness, we are at war over Justin Bieber. Yes, I should start from the beginning.
I commandeered our account this past semester because I was taking a class in which I had to watch an incredibly weird foreign film every week, and couldn't make the class screenings. These movies were all strangely similar and basically followed the rule that if you were a sexually promiscuous woman, you would die in an extremely random but blatantly metaphorical manner. And that was basically the entire plot, and it wasted about 2 and a half hours of my extremely valuable time. ANYWAY, I'll end this tangent. The point is that I used up my claim to movie choice prior to returning home.
Dad is, in general, not too interested in movies unless they are based off a book he read or are a Bourne Identity sequel. We all love Matt Damon. It's not weird. Really. Really?
Mom has been using the account to watch Sex and the City from the very beginning. When this show was actually on the air she had better things to do, like raising children, than figuring out if she was a Charlotte or a Carrie and wondering what the heck these women were wearing. So we had been recieving these DVDs regularly in the mail.
Claire likes movies that are happy. Actually, Claire only likes movies that are happy. I believe I may be at fault in this. It was I who dragged her to see Sweeney Todd, only telling her that it was a musical. After (spoiler alert) people were repeatedly murdered and baked into pies by a grief-stricken psycho and later shoved into a furnace by a small child, she turned to me and exclaimed, "YOU SAID IT WAS A MUSICAL. MUSICALS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE HAPPY." From about that day, we watched happy movies. Most of these were animated. Others involved attractive people falling in love. None of these romances were star-crossed.
So, at the recommendation of her sorority sisters, Claire decided she needed to see the Justin Bieber movie. These were the main reasons given:
1. It is true.
2. It is undoubtedly happy, because a 16 year old ends up being a millionaire.
3. Catchy pop music! Songs of young, innocent love!
4. SHINY THINGS
5. Also, Canadians!
(Disclaimer: numbers 4 and 5 are not actually real. Those are just extrapolations I've made from the given arguments.)
After much lobbying, Claire succeeded in getting the movie onto the top of our queue. This required many significant lectures and work on her part. This was the turmoil referenced in the blog title. It felt endless. I am pretty sure Dad still has no idea who Justin Bieber is and doesn't want to on principle, and Mom thinks we are receiving a DVD entirely about fancy haircuts and screaming pre-teens. But that is beside the point. The point is, yesterday Justin Bieber arrived in our household, and Claire,the one who isn't at all interested in law or political strategy, has won.
Don't get me wrong, Claire appreciates good music. 80 percent of my iPod has been suggested by her. But, she also enjoys making our parents roll their eyes, and winning. Also, based on these events, I am pretty sure she likes liking things ironically.
And that, my friends, is the biggest problem my family faces today. Now you are free to pay attention to real issues! Like the Greek budget crisis and related protests, or the Kardashians.
Naturally, disagreements happen. The most recent has grave implications. And it involves Netflix.
This is the type of stuff Edward Albee would write plays about these days. Instead of marital strife, awkward dinner parties, and drunkeness, we are at war over Justin Bieber. Yes, I should start from the beginning.
I commandeered our account this past semester because I was taking a class in which I had to watch an incredibly weird foreign film every week, and couldn't make the class screenings. These movies were all strangely similar and basically followed the rule that if you were a sexually promiscuous woman, you would die in an extremely random but blatantly metaphorical manner. And that was basically the entire plot, and it wasted about 2 and a half hours of my extremely valuable time. ANYWAY, I'll end this tangent. The point is that I used up my claim to movie choice prior to returning home.
Dad is, in general, not too interested in movies unless they are based off a book he read or are a Bourne Identity sequel. We all love Matt Damon. It's not weird. Really. Really?
Mom has been using the account to watch Sex and the City from the very beginning. When this show was actually on the air she had better things to do, like raising children, than figuring out if she was a Charlotte or a Carrie and wondering what the heck these women were wearing. So we had been recieving these DVDs regularly in the mail.
Claire likes movies that are happy. Actually, Claire only likes movies that are happy. I believe I may be at fault in this. It was I who dragged her to see Sweeney Todd, only telling her that it was a musical. After (spoiler alert) people were repeatedly murdered and baked into pies by a grief-stricken psycho and later shoved into a furnace by a small child, she turned to me and exclaimed, "YOU SAID IT WAS A MUSICAL. MUSICALS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE HAPPY." From about that day, we watched happy movies. Most of these were animated. Others involved attractive people falling in love. None of these romances were star-crossed.
So, at the recommendation of her sorority sisters, Claire decided she needed to see the Justin Bieber movie. These were the main reasons given:
1. It is true.
2. It is undoubtedly happy, because a 16 year old ends up being a millionaire.
3. Catchy pop music! Songs of young, innocent love!
4. SHINY THINGS
5. Also, Canadians!
(Disclaimer: numbers 4 and 5 are not actually real. Those are just extrapolations I've made from the given arguments.)
After much lobbying, Claire succeeded in getting the movie onto the top of our queue. This required many significant lectures and work on her part. This was the turmoil referenced in the blog title. It felt endless. I am pretty sure Dad still has no idea who Justin Bieber is and doesn't want to on principle, and Mom thinks we are receiving a DVD entirely about fancy haircuts and screaming pre-teens. But that is beside the point. The point is, yesterday Justin Bieber arrived in our household, and Claire,the one who isn't at all interested in law or political strategy, has won.
Don't get me wrong, Claire appreciates good music. 80 percent of my iPod has been suggested by her. But, she also enjoys making our parents roll their eyes, and winning. Also, based on these events, I am pretty sure she likes liking things ironically.
And that, my friends, is the biggest problem my family faces today. Now you are free to pay attention to real issues! Like the Greek budget crisis and related protests, or the Kardashians.
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