What's In a Name?

So, I know we all have identity issues... Most of us are neurotic, self-absorbed, and obsessed with our image... and that's on a good day. But what do you do when you don't even know your own name?

See here's the thing: I have many many many names. No, Messiah is not one of them... Yet. I'm still working on the Mission Plan for my Cult. Anyhow... My best friend from college was recently visiting me here in D.C. where a friend from Arkansas now lives too and I realized that when a bunch of us went out, I was being called THREE different names simultaneously... and I don't mean slanders, either.

Growing up, my parents used the nickname, "Betsy" for me because it matched best with my twin's name, "Cathy." (The twin thing is a WHOLE other identity issue that most people are lucky/unfortunate enough not to deal with... moving on...) So, I was called "Betsy" until I reached Junior High and attempted to change this fact. You know when the teachers call roll on the first day and then ask what you go by? Well, I finally started answering, "Elizabeth." Of course, seeing as how I was going to Junior High with the same people who had called me "Betsy" not a summer before, my strategy didn't work... Sure, my teachers respected it, but the kids? Nope... still Betsy. Yes, I'm aware that it's a common cow name. I grew up in Arkansas, of course I know that. As do all the other Arkansans in my school... Why do you think I was so anxious to be called Elizabeth? Sigh.

Well, at some point in high school I made friends with a girl from Chicago who decided to start calling me "Liz." Cathy (not my twin) was the first openly Democratic person I had met in Arkansas and I adored her... mostly for her spirit, but renaming me certainly didn't hurt anything. By the time I went to college at the University of Missouri-Columbia, I had started to like "Liz," though in Arkansas few people actually called me that. Liz was funkier than Elizabeth, more self-assured, and way less like a cow's name than Betsy. I still always introduced myself as Elizabeth, especially in class. It was a nice back-up name to Betsy. Liz, though, became my "casual" college name and I liked the way being a "Liz" felt. I liked the people "Liz" was friends with.

But then, something else happened, something cataclysmic. All my friends who called me Liz, whom I associated with my "Liz" persona, well... to put it succinctly, they sorta sucked. A lot. And we stopped being friends. Liz now sounded like a dirty word coming from their mouths... Liz... Liz... Liz...Bleck. So here I was, an unwilling Betsy, a back-up Elizabeth, and a now-tainted Liz. I felt lost.

Eventually my names settled, as all things do... boobs, houses, men. I was renamed "Lizzy" by my best friend from Mizzou (not associated with the aforementioned "Liz" friends) and finally reowned Liz. Elizabeth finally became a name I chose, as opposed to my backup. I also became at peace with Betsy. It's not such a bad name. Really. Besides, I can't change it. I'll always be "Betsy" to my Grandpa, elementary school enemies, and to that little part of kid that's still in me. Owning these names helped me own all of the "pieces of me," to quote the great philosopher of our times Ashlee Simpson.

In the end, I'll always be "Liz" to some people, "Elizabeth" to most, "Betsy" to those I grew up with...let me clarify: ONLY TO THOSE I GREW UP WITH. And sometimes, like three Saturdays ago, I was Elizabeth, Betsy, and Liz all at one time. I guess that's sorta the point of all this exposition: we all have different personas, characteristics, "names". Well, if we're aren't cardboard cutouts of type personalities. Hopefully, we all change in our lives. I know that I have changed. But all parts of me still influence the whole. Each experience I have lived, good and bad, makes me me. I wouldn't give up my time with either my "good" or "bad" Liz-friends. That "Liz" is part of what makes me who I am now. All of these names make up both "Elizabeth" the name and the person.

Just don't call me "Beth"...

Read More...

Going Around is the New Black

To start off, Harry Potter rocked! It was amazing, even though they did cut stuff out that I like from the book... I honestly can't say anything but good things... Oh and that I have slightly illegal crushes on Harry and Ron. Whew, that was good to get off my chest.

On to other things, like the fact that even though I love to party, meet new people, and go to bars, I'm apparently completely incapable of it. After Harry Potter at the Uptown, 10 of us decided to get a small bite to eat and head out for dancing in Adams Morgan. Perhaps the problem was that there was 10 of us, or perhaps it was the fact that most of us in the party tend to enjoy drinking while playing Atari or Scrabble, but we failed miserably at even getting anywhere near a bar or an alcoholic drink... We kept wandering, then stopping and conferring, then wandering, then getting an idea, then vetoing, then wandering... And finally, we gave up. Some of us bought some empanadas from Julia's on 18th, some of us went across to a coffee place to get hot chocolate, but none of us got wasted or danced or made out with strangers... it was a "failed" night in the city. We didn't go out, we went around.

The moral of this story? Maybe me and my friends are more the home types... or maybe we just don't know too many places in Adams-Morgan... or maybe 10 people should never try to eat somewhere at 10pm on a Saturday in D.C... or maybe we should plan ahead...

Well, whatever the lesson learned, I do know this: empanadas make me happy. Mmmmmm, empanadas.

Read More...

Well, Hell: Part III

Okay, right after I published that last post I got called by the job... and it's official! Nope, not me.

But, the conversation went really well. Since I have already worked for the Archives before in this department, I think that my old boss felt really badly telling me they went with someone else. I'm glad I got a one-on-one call, since the last job I interviewed with, I got a letter saying "this is to inform you that you are no longer under consideration for this position." Nice.

Anyhow, basically they went with someone who had more research experience. I asked what I could do professionally to make myself a more desirable candidate in the future... and her answer? I'm doing great... I have a top-notch portfolio, my interview went fantastic, and I had a wonderful resume... I just need more experience. I just gotta keep doing what I'm doing and one day it'll all fall into place.

So, as disappointed as I am because the department and staff at the Archives is wonderful, at least I know that I got it where it counts... I'm not wasting my time... I just got to get a little bit more than the other great person applying for the job!

Of course, the downside is that I have to get this experience while working in collections and volunteering (as in, no money) in exhibits. As my Grandpa said, "Well, that don't make much sense. How're ya supposed to get the experience if they won't hire you?" Ah, the wisdom of the eldery.

Read More...

Well, Hell: Part II

Okay, so I'm feeling a bit like a big cheek to admit this, but... I am pretty sure my dream job just skipped right over me. I found out last week that they called my references and went on and on about how much I rule, to which my reference replied, "no fucking shit!" Okay, I'm ad libbing, but that was the gist. And then... I hear unofficial rumblings that they have picked someone else. What???!!!!! You only call references when you want to hire someone. Or, in my case, when you want to hire two people and have to decide which one. So basically, I do rule... but just not as much as some other exhibit writing fool.

But, as bummed as I was yesterday, I'm much better today. For one, it's not official yet. For two, if it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out. There will be more jobs... maybe... sometime... somewhere. Third, I came in second for an amazing job! I don't suck THAT bad. At least I'm getting called, no? Fourth, and most thankfully, I already have a job at the Smithsonian. So I won't have to go live in my '87 Honda anytime soon. My current contract as been extended, with additional funds and there is a chance of a new project coming through that would mean more full-time work until September '06.

I guess the long and short of it is this: I didn't get the job that I want, but when your fallback is the Smithsonian, how much can a girl really complain?

Apparently, a lot, if you are me. Although, this is quite the optimistic post... So, hats off to me!

Read More...

Well, Hell...

I can't believe that it is already mid-November. Jesus, what the hell happened? I graduated 6 months ago now and am still trying to find permanent employment. As much as I love the Smithsonian, I can't be a contractor for the rest of my career... I need health insurance, for one. Oh yeah, and a paycheck not dependent on someone else filing my invoice. Someone who's completely bored at their job and doesn't really care that I have rent due at the first of the month...

That's about all my life is right now, though... work work work work work and trying to get a job that would be more work. But, my best friend from college is coming up from Lawrence this weekend for the opening of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I can't wait. Yes, I read Harry Potter. In fact, when the last book came out I even went to a train station in Old Towne that had been converted to Platform 9 and 3/4. I am a geek. I never claim to be anything else.

Anyways... Jennipher is coming up and we're going to go see HP at the Uptown and then head out on the town... then home to Arkansas for Thanksgiving...then back to our Nation's capital.

And then, you ask?

Yep, that's right, more work... And I used to complain about school...

Read More...

I admit it...

Okay, I'm finally ready to admit it. I like "Sex and the City." Whew, that was a load off my chest.

See, here's the thing. I had a one-woman boycott of the show because of 2 reasons. One was my ex-roommates' obsession with it and their silly attempts at feeling like somehow the show was like them... statements like, "I'm so Carrie" or "you're just like Samantha" made my stomach turn. My roommates were constantly trying to be a clique and I would have no part. "Sex and the City" was associated with that, sorry Mr. Pavlov's dog.

Second on my list was everyone else's obsession with the show and their trumpeting of its feminism, of its reality, of its link to their lives not living in New York. The show has some feminist elements, it's true. Openness about sexuality, the communities women build with their female friends, conversations about power struggles between men and women in relationships, careers, and sex... but at the core of the show was each of the character's search for a male partner... in the end, each one of them, including Samantha, had been domesticated into a heterosexist relationship. Okay, it's better than most shows at showing female characters, but "feminist"? Definitely not radical, I'll say that. As to the "reality" of the show, I admit it, I've never lived in Manhattan. I can't say if the show's portrayal is realistic or not... but I can say that it seems to me that in a lot of cases these women are parodies of Manhattanites...maybe the show is even partly satire? Finally, I definitely thought the show lacked any diversity in terms of this being "realistic" to women... there were only two main black male characters and they both served as fleeting love interests as opposed to three-dimensional partners. There were only about four black women featured in the show and in all cases, they served to buttress the emotional value of the white characters (Miranda and her crying baby; Carrie after her book opening; Samantha and her lack of racism; "Strong arms" dance teacher). In fact, this would make a good article topic...

But...

I decided to put my money where my mouth was and watch the show and I mean, watch it. Every single episode, in order, over the course of a month. Which, of course, is how I know roughly how many African-Americans were featured, you naysayers. And you know what? I like the series... I really do. If you stop kidding yourself about its social value and just watch it, you'll find a good romantic comedy about men, friends, and shoes. It often has a simple plot, with somewhat three-dimensional characters who are sometimes touching and sometimes stereotypical... but, in the end, I'm as much a sucker for a romance (and shoes) as the next person...

So there, I reneg, kinda. I still have the same critiques, but I'm able to get off my high-horse long enough to want Big and Carrie to make it.

PS I'm a mix between a Miranda and a Carrie. You know you couldn't wait until I told you.

Read More...

I'm a loner and I carry a duffel bag.

My husband is with some of his guy friends watching Episodes I, II, and III tonight, which means tonight is a girl's night. By myself. And with some pizza and beer and episodes of Undeclared. An amazing night. I've recently decided that the key to happiness is the ability to enjoy being by yourself and I don't mean that in a dirty way, people. When you don't need other people to make you happy, to entertain you, to validate you, that's when you're in a good place.

So, on that note, I'm off to my girl's night. Alone.

Read More...

Dirty Hippie and Her Prom Queen

So Halloween has come and gone and man was it a blast. The past two years I have gone all out for my costumes. In 2003 I was Tammy Faye Bakker, with fake eyelashes, suntan colored hose, pink suit-set and all. Last year, my compadre and I were Venkman and Stantz, complete with homemade proton packs that shot silly string and jello shot slime. This year I really just wanted to do something from my closet... thus, the high school dirty hippie. You got skirt pant, ethnic necklace, nose ring back in, all my earrings, baggie shirt, birks and tattoos. I know, I know, it might seem like I'm making fun of high school and college friends, but I'm not. Really. I just needed a costume!

Anyhow, we waited outside this club for about an hour, sobered up, played the alphabet game with Howard the Duck, went inside and danced until Maeve's corset from her wench outfit couldn't dance anymore.

Read More...