The Mind…

It is the mind that fascinates me most. Lovers, I miss and sometimes think wistfully about. But past mental fascinations I ache for like a widow.

From the Silent Walls of Smythee Headquarters

Yes, I’ve been silent. Work and life have been overwhelming, and I’ve been wanting to make some changes here. Stay tuned!

Superbad High School Party Memories

I nabbed Superbad today for the super-awesome price of $7.99. Score!

So I’m watching it tonight, and one of the scenes shot me back to high school. Jules notes that Seth is never at parties, so she assumed he wasn’t into them, rather than consider the possibility that he wasn’t invited.

Ah, it hit close to home. I remember finding myself at one of the exclusive parties once during my senior year. I was sitting on the floor, chatting with a guy I knew. He looked at me and asked why I never showed up before. I don’t remember what I told him — whether I told him the truth, or whether I changed the subject. It’s just that question that sticks in my mind.

Before it, it never occurred to me that someone would wonder why I wasn’t there, or assume that it was my own disinterest. It made my head wild with the thought of assumptions. How much of high school would be different without assumptions. Or, were assumptions just excuses to avoid the truth?

Whatever the case, I didn’t get my awesome Superbad ending. If reincarnation is real, God best put on his best Apatow writing cap and get me many, many happy endings for my next time at bat.

Environmental Laziness

Want to go visit garbage island? There’s nothing like a relaxing trip along the blue ocean seas, checking out all the plastic remnants glimmering in the sunlight.

Most of us don’t do enough for the environment, but what really gets me is how many little things we could all do to make it a teeny bit better. Some go on about how we should have 1-minute showers, never use this, never do that… But just imagine how much better things would be if everyone just did the minimum.

People throw out the plastic containers they buy food in, rather than reusing them. They grab plastic bags rather than invest in a few canvas ones (which are so much easier to carry). They’ll throw things out with a shrug, rather than thinking of recycling it. Mall trash cans are full of lots of recyclable material that just gets dumped. Tiny portions of products, housed in plastic, are bought over and over rather than picking up one bigger one. Delivery addicts will throw out Styrofoam by the boatload. Stores will put out mushrooms, herbs, veggies, meats, and other foods packaged in plastic AND Styrofoam.

Is our laziness that great that we can’t even fix the little things above? I guess so, and that’s sad.

Filled with Memories

Many pieces of media leave their footprint on your memory — some for the achievements they make, some for what they inspire within you, and some for reasons not at all connected to the media itself. There are times when the hint of a song will bring to mind a person and a feeling. There are times when a scene just embodies who I was during a period of time long passed. There are times when media will remind you of the scenario and person you experienced it with.

When “Life of Brian” popped onto my television screen, I was immediately shot back to November 1994. For those sadly out of the know, this is an episode from My So-Called Life — the one where Brian Krakow gets to deliver the voiceover, and everyone is getting ready for a big dance.

I was in a hotel room at the time, with a friend of mine, desperately in need for my MSCL fix. I’d had the worst high school day on record, and then set off to look at a college with my family. We watched the episode and it washed away some of the aggravation. Yeah, Brian was a spastic, dumb, lust-filled teen. Rayanne was, well, Rayanne. Angela had her regular craziness with Jordan. But Ricky… He got his perfect school dance moment.

It was silly, but sweet, and it gave me hope. Sure, that hope was dashed with the rest of my senior year, but it still gave me a little hope in people, and that no matter what crap you’re dealing with today, what monotony might be dragging you down, or people, there will, at some point, be one of those perfect moments to help wash away the memory of the bad.

I watched it there, with my friend, and thought of my luck not in the crappy week that led to this night, but in that singular moment with my friend. Every time I watch that final scene, I can almost feel her with me, even though I haven’t seen her in over a decade, and she’s on the other side of the world.

N, I still keep my eye out for you, and am so very proud of all that you have accomplished, you superstar.

To the rest of you: when was the last time some media transported you back to another time, and another life?

Beware of Maniac Moms

Had I not seen a Gilmore Girls episode in the last few years that had Lorelai giving a bunch of young girls old-school, slumber party makeovers, I’d feel like I was completely out of touch with reality, and the biggest grandma in grandmadom. Or, that the world had finally gone batshit insane.

Some mothers are making their 8-year-old girls get bikini waxes.

Now the article goes on to discuss manicures, zits, and the like, but forget about that. Some girls are just getting to do what I tried to do with Wet and Wild. (Oh, for love of $.99 cosmetics!) Anyway…

I can’t even begin to list all of the ways that these women should be beaten, and all the ways that they’re injuring their daughters — and not just physically. I would be horrified if my mom sent me off to a stranger to wax me now, let alone when I was only in second or third grade — and privates no less! Not to mention the emotional scarring, the impending, overwhelming obsession with a body that will never be there, no matter how much botchulism is injected, or hairs ripped out. There is just nothing positive about this practice.

However, to be fair: When I was a kid, I was truly pissed when I started growing hair. It sucks. But hey, it’s a part of a woman’s life — just like periods, boobs, and all that other crappy stuff. We need to learn to deal with it, and how to become comfortable enough in our own bodies that we can handle what life throws at us. I foresee a future of stiff girls who fall over when life throws them something, rather than them catching it, and chucking it back. The next thing you know, young girls will get the pill daily just to ward off the crimson wave. (I am having flashbacks to the most recent SNL now…)

This is just what the world needs — more Paris Hiltons of the world who have no hair, and say that girls don’t fart. You rich, idiotic women out there, you should be ashamed of yourselves.

A Call for Dictionaries!

I think there should be a new cause in the world — getting people dictionaries!

http://youtube.com/watch?v=ikGJjDr6eGk

THIS was cited as an example of pornographic media in Ann Arbor.

When the story about being happy as you are is pornographic because it’s about breasts?

The rampant fear over the female anatomy is not only mind-boggling, but really embarrassing for the human race.

In a side note: Funny, I had no idea that today was Good People Day when I wrote about the paper plates yesterday. Check out Slackmistress for more deets.

Make Today Paper Plate Day

No, I’m not talking about waste!

An old exercise came to mind this afternoon, one I haven’t thought of in a while. During one class in middle school, that was focused more on life than reading, writing, and ‘rithmetic, we had to do the paper plate exercise. Each of us had to take a piece of masking tape and attach a paper plate to our backs. Then, we all had to go up to each person, and write one true, genuine, and nice thing about each person. At the end, we had a plate full of compliments from friends, people we never talk to, and even cute boys whose thoughts you’d never really learn at that age.

They were anonymous, but of course, we all figured out who wrote what — but that was okay. In that world, where kids are ridiculously judgmental and sensitive, it was a real treat to see how other people saw you. Surprisingly, everyone was honest. It was both a moment to share the little things that you admire in another, without it seeming weird, and a chance to take notice of the things that people admire/appreciate in yourself. You might hate this or that about yourself, and never notice this other thing that another person appreciates within you, but that you never notice.

The plate is buried somewhere in my keepsakes, so I can’t quote anything, but I remember being surprised, happy, and touched with how my life has affected others, and how others saw me.

I think it’s something we all need, even today. I just wish it was feasible in the modern world. One could make a virtual paper plate, but there’s just something about the tactile experience that’s much different than an anonymous comment on a blog, or a virtual paper plate.

It’s so very easy to express distaste and anger, but so much more beneficial to be positive — so wear a paper plate today!

And if that’s not possible, remember to tell those you appreciate just why you appreciate them.

Poor Sebastian Bach!

In the old days, when I was a teen, I loved me some Sebastian Bach. The hair. His performance of “I’ll Remember You.” It killed my young, teen heart.

When I got a little older, that musical love dissolved as Scott Wieland wiggled his legs in green leather pants and my appreciation for the band went from singing along to all-out lust.

And now I remember yesterday, with the latest news about Velvet Revolver woes. If you haven’t been paying attention, there’s all sorts of band turmoil, Wieland saying the band is over, pissy press releases, and now the end of Velvet Revolver. A day after the rest of the band said they’re firing Scott, he’s shot back via MTV.

I don’t know who is telling the truth in all of this, and frankly, I don’t care. I appreciate some of their tunes, but I always preferred the old bands to this new one. Of course, that means I’m all sorts of titillated over the news that Wieland is going back to STP. (Anyone need a Wieland-loving woman to keep them company at one of their shows? Anyone? Bueller?)

But the ending to this whole thing is just comedy gold. MTV says that Wieland wrapped his rant up by saying: “Good hunting, lads — I think Sebastian Bach would be a fantastic choice.” And now, the two loves come together.

Beaten Down

A fact of life in the universe of Alyce Smythee is that almost all good things come with a price. Sure, there can be great surprises here or there, or great runs of goodness, but overall, there’s always something crappy that can be directly linked to the good, and if something crappy happens once, it’s going to happen again.

For the second time in the 2+ years that I’ve lived in my apartment, I have had a food crisis. The first time, it was an attack of Indian Meal Moths. If you don’t know what they are, consider yourself blessed and lucky. They find a food source, multiply, and unless you find their home (which can be much more difficult than you can imagine), they just keep making new ones in all of your food. They eat through cardboard, thin plastic, and some other containers that you’d never imagine.

When they came to my beloved abode, they annihilated hundreds of dollars of food — my extensive tea collection, all of my good chocolate and regularly sealed baking supplies, some herbs, all of my grains, pasta, you name it. It took almost a year to find all of their homes and get them out. (Now they’re back in the hallways, and so help me god, if I get another infestation, I’m beating the shit out of the other people who live in this place.)

Anywho…

Tonight, I opened my freezer to decide what I wanted to cook with my fresh collard greens. The freezer looked like the Boston Massacre. Everywhere you looked, there were pools of deep red blood and moist pieces of flesh. My freezer and fridge had turned themselves off. Griping, I reset the plug, thinking it had just shorted. Oh, no.

The plug was working fine, and the light would turn on, but my 3-month old fridge stopped cooling. An elk roast, an elk filet, a few other steaks, a bunch of pork, a bunch of chicken breasts, some ground meat, tilapia filets — all completely thawed. (Imagine how long it must’ve been off to accomplish that… Or maybe it went off right before I went into it last time, sucking out the much-needed cold air…) I had to throw out a big bags of pierogies (handmade by local Poles), shrimp, and Jamaican beef patties.

The PTB are just lucky that my huge box of Black Jack gum was unharmed. If that was gone, I would’ve killed someone, no matter what the consequences.

But that’s not all — the minute my hand finally pulled the last piece of food out of the freezer — the motor turned back on and starting to chill again.

If you’re going to break, break. But don’t half break, so that the fixer dude will have no idea what’s wrong.

If you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to go to bed. I’m tired, I’m annoyed, and the mere sound of my fridge’s whirring motor is infuriating.