Dear Lord

I just moved into a new place in Columbia Heights (love it love it love it), but can barely maneuver around the boxes. I am loving my new job at NARA, even though the lab I'm in is insanely busy. Digital Imaging is the wave of the future, and everyone's wanting to surf. Okay, that was really bad, but I'm tired and living out of boxes... Please forgive me. I had an interview for an exhibits job I applied to what feels like years ago, but was really only months... Stupid federal government job process... I am not actively looking for exhibits jobs, because I love my current position so much, but I went ahead and went to the interview... we'll see what happens. For now, I'm just trying to find what box has my underwear and my phone charger... Sigh.

I'll update more soon.

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Lucky Bastard

This last birthday I was once again reminded of what a lucky bastard I really am. In addition to receiving tons of birthday cards, phone calls, and awesome presents, my favorite friends here in the DC area took me to, da da da, MEDIEVAL TIMES DINNER AND TOURNAMENT!!!!!!



I got to eat chicken with my bare hands, watch a horse show, wear a friggin' crown, contemplate the bizarre cultural origins of a three time daily "medieval tournament" and, to Andrew's chagrin, win the group betting pool for the upteenth time. I always win and I never care about what I'm betting on. Usually it's the Superbowl, in the past it has been the quarter slots, this time it was the Yellow Knight. Perhaps I should consider a new career? Or at least Andrew should start betting with me instead of against me. What a great birthday!

I honestly don't know how I got so lucky with all the people in my life. Well, actually, I sorta do. Long ago, in a state far far away... I went to college and decided to become the Elizabeth I thought I should be and instead learned how lucky I already was. See, in high school, my core group of friends were the OrchDorks, a diverse little group of string players who weren't nerds (like the band geeks) or socially inept, but weren't popular in the traditional sense. People generally left us alone. There were 8 of us, including me and my twin. Invariably we were together on weekends scripting Britcom style interludes, planning complicated spying maneuvers, cooking, or just talking. Partying wasn't the core of our social interactions because some of the members of this group were more conservative and in fact still are. We had personalities that ranged from quiet, to wacky, to intellectual, to sweet, to weird, and everything in between. We even have a devout Libertarian thrown in the mix. Some of these friends didn't have an interest in the sort of music I liked and weren't liberal by any means... Some of them did, but would never shave their head. One of them wanted to be doctor, one a nurse, one a pirate, one a teacher, one an auditor, one a violist, and one a writer. All but the pirate have succeeded. Piracy is having a bit of a down-time right now. Anyhow, at the time I went to college, I thought that the fact that some of my friends would never drink a drop of alcohol (a fact proven wrong with time) or listen to Wilco was a personal liability. I thought that I wasn't living up to my full potential unless I was with people who had the same values, ideas, clothes, music as me. I didn't understand at the time that all each of these women wanted was a place to be who they are, whatever that meant to them.

So? So I went to college and made friends who acted, looked, listened, believed, and thought liked I did. I found other liberal, music-loving drunks. And you know what? They turned out to be the biggest bunch of insecure, annoying, close-minded, catty, and backstabbing bitches I've ever met. As a note, I'm using the past tense as I haven't spoken to any of them in years, so perhaps they've changed...well, one of them contacted me recently via Friendster and her message oozed of the same self-aggrandizing pomposity born of unrealized insecurity. But, like I said, benefit of the doubt... Anyhow, what I ultimately discovered is that I wouldn't trade my OrchDorks in a million years. I would rather have friends that had different beliefs than me, but listened to my point of view and perhaps even changed their opinion because of it. I would rather have friends who treated people in a respectful manner, than people who feel the need to put others down for their own low self-esteem. I would rather be with people who value more than what clothes you wear, what drugs you've done, and what hipper-than-hippest band you listen to as criteria for friendship. Liberal does not mean open-minded and the coolest people are the people who don't care what cool is. It's not even on their radar. I'll take my dorky, funny, caring, open-minded friends any day. And you know what, some of them might even listen to Wilco or Black Box Recorder or shave their heads. But that shouldn't be the requirement. I'll be the first to admit that the whole situation was because of my bad judgment. These girls couldn't help what catty little people they were. They had their own issues. And I got caught up in them.

Luckily I didn't burn too many bridges with my experiment gone wrong. And in the time since my hard-earned lesson I have met some of the best friends I've ever had. Some of them are little weird people like me, with lesbian-chic hair and a love of the booze and piercings. Some are as American as white bread, but secretly whole grain inside. Perhaps some are even Sourdough? Oh, or marble rye... Regardless, my criteria for friendship has completely reverted to what it was when I was in elementary school, before all the social pressures kicked in. Does this person make me laugh so hard I pee my pants? Do they listen to me, even when I'm being so irrational and neurotic I sound like a crazy-person? Will they build hamster duplexes with me in their free time? Do they love me for me, differences and all?

At this point in my life, I have to say that I am lucky enough to have more than a handful of friends like this, including 7 of the 8 original OrchDorks and some other unexpected long-term friends from high school, Mizzou and GWU... Friends, in fact, who even remember my birthday amidst their own busy lives far away.

Thank you to all for being exactly who you are and for loving me all the same.

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Hermione

During a recent catch-up on Popsugar, this image of Emma Watson drinking was posted. While some might go, "Hey, 15-year-old actress drinking a beer, that seems right," I screamed at my computer "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! Hermione doesn't drink!!!!!" Before you start telling me, Hermione is an imaginary character and Emma Watson is an actress playing her, I need to say this: Emma Watson is not a person. She only exists in the public world, my world, because she is Hermione. Therefore, I have the right to chastise her for public-un-Hermione-like behaviors.

Okay, okay, I give. I really don't think that, not really. Emma Watson can booze all she wants, as long as she doesn't drink and drive or beat up small animals in the course of doing so. Large animals are totally fine, though. Anyhow, my reaction did get me thinking about the idea of character ownership, especially related to literature characters. I am a huge Harry Potter fan, I admit, and when the movies came out I was a little nervous. In the end, I wholeheartedly accepted the children cast and in fact when I read the books, in my mind's eye I see Rupert Grint, Daniel Radcliffe, and Emma Watson. Thus, my belief that Emma Watson is Hermione. However, I'm not a true literal interpreter. I feel like I own the essence of the stories, but I don't get all in a tizzy when things are changed, like in Prisoner of Azkaban. Cuaron had to change some plot items and added/subtracted side-stories as he saw fit for his interpretation of the original story. I actually felt that Prisoner of Azkaban was the truest adaptation so far, in terms of capturing the feeling of the stories, of Harry's life.

My sister, on the other hand, is a true literal interpreter when it comes to her book/film adaptations. She essentially likes play-acting of what's in her head already. She hates Prisoner of Azkaban. It is her least favorite of all the Harry Potters, including the awful Chamber of Secrets. She also refuses to like the 2005 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice because it cut so much of the book out and because Keira Knightly is NOT Lizzy. Lizzy is actually a character where this ownership trait appears for a lot of people. Case in point: there were webpages devoted to anti-Keira Knightly as Lizzy, boycotts of the film, hate mail... And all because so many women feel that Lizzy is theirs, that she belongs to them, and that she deserves the movie that they have in their heads. For most P and P purists, the 1990s BBC version with Colin Firth hits the spot. It is nearly a line for line match of the novel and an image for image match of the imaginations of readers. Plus Colin Firth as Darcy makes most women weak in the knees. Myself included.

I personally liked the new adaptation. I think the director did a good job of capturing Bennett family life, Lizzy's spirit, and Darcy's love of her. He kept the essence of the novel in the film, which was a slight two hours compared to the eight hour BBC adaptation. It's become my P and P-lite. I watch it when I don't want to sit down for an entire week just for a Darcy fix.

In the end, whether you are an essence purist or a literal purist, there will be some films that fail to live up the reader's imagination at all. And there are some books that make better movies, I'm sure. But reading, unlike films, gives viewers the chance to place a bit of themselves in the interpretation, to imagine, to own the story. It's an amazing byproduct of the reading experience and one of the reasons that I'm a bookworm.

All the same, Emma Watson needs to keep away from the booze and stick to studying. Just like Hermione.

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Bad Kitty!

I've been a very bad blogger lately. I haven't posted in what feels like forever, even though I have several drafts of utmost social meaning rolling around in my head. I've just been so busy being important, I haven't had time for the little folks. I know I should be better, but, well, I'm too important for such things.

Actually, I have been really busy. I start my new job in about a week and I've been working late into the evenings and most weekends to finish up here at the Smithsonian. In addition, since I'm working out at Archives II, my commute from Arlington is about an 1 1/2 each way. My husband and I both agreed that I would not be a very fun person to live with if I did that everyday. Actually, I'm pretty sure I would be a terror. So, we've spent the last three weeks looking at places in Mt. Pleasant, Columbia Heights and Capitol Hill. We liked Capitol Hill/Eastern Market the best, but the space and price just wasn't what we were looking for. I don't want to spend all of my new money on a place to live. It would be nice to horde cash for a while, you know? Anyhow, we finally found a great little place in Columbia Heights, about three blocks from the Metro. It's a tad smaller than what we have now, but it's in a cute Victorian Rowhouse, has off-street parking (yes it's true, it does exist in the District), and will mean a 30 minute commute for me. Plus, even though Columbia Heights is going through the process of gentrification, it hasn't lost the diversity and community that makes it more appealing that yuppie-land Dupont or Cleveland Park.

I am sad that we are leaving our current neighborhood. We'll have to find new breakfast places, new pizza places, new takeout. But part of the fun of moving is discovering those things. We don't move until the end of April, though, so I will have to deal with the long commute until then. So, my posts will probably be few and far between as I will be sleeping most of my free time in order to get up at the crack-ass of dawn.

Sigh.

At least there is an end in sight. Along with a date with UHAUL. Whoopee!

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I'm Federal Now, B-yatch!

So, after over a year of working as an independent consultant for the Smithsonian (which is actually code for: sounds awesome, but really means no job stability or benefits), I have just accepted a federal permanent position at the National Archives and Records Administration!

My position is in the Special Media Preservation Lab and I will be working as a Digital Imaging Technician. Basically I will be digitizing really amazing photographs, letters, maps, negatives, etc. for exhibits use, public programming use, and for preservation purposes. Digital preservation is the wave of the future and I'm excited to be working at one of the top labs in the country. Digitizing original documents ensures their perpetuity and allows public use without damaging originals. It also means that Joe Schmo in North Dakota can access high quality captures of documents on the internet if he can't travel to D.C. to see them. What I'm most excited about, though, is that I will be working with the collection of the National Archives, basically the Rock Stars of archival documents. Letters by Jefferson, Washington, Lincoln... Supreme Court rulings... The Declaration of Independence. Well I probably won't be around that, per se, but you get what I'm saying.

The down-side is that I'm working at Archives II, as opposed to Downtown. I will have the schlep up to College Park every day from Arlington, which is around an hour and a half Metro ride each way. I did the commute before in Grad School and it's not awful, but it's also not great. So, David and I are moving into the District ASAP. We're looking at Eastern Market/Capitol Hill and Mt. Pleasant right now. My commute would be from thirty minutes to an hour then, which would be a lot better. Plus, I'd already be in DC on weekends. I don't want my only time in the District to be underground. I've gotten really used to being here every day for my current job and it makes me sad to leave. I'll also be sad to leave Pastries by Randolph and the Italian Store in Arlington, but I think I'll live. Well, I don't know, those pretzels Randolph makes on Saturdays are probably the best pretzels I've ever had... Mmmmmm, pretzels.

Oh and one final thing. It is in fact true that when it rains it pours. The very day after I accepted this position, I get called for an Associate Curator position at a history museum in Kansas City. Seriously, what's up with that? Now that they can't have me, they want me? It's some sort of sick employment law or something. The minute you say "yes" to something, five other great and amazing jobs will open to you.

Oh well, people can call all they want, 'cause I'm federal now, bitches!

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You Can "Flyover" My Ass

Growing up in Arkansas, I was surrounded by the ignorance, bigotry, and poverty one imagines existing in the South. I was also surrounded by far-right Christians/Republicans who had a severe distaste for both of the coasts. This dislike was partly based on the fact that the coasts are more liberal (and therefore morally corrupt), partly based on a deep distrust of the North from the time of the the Civil War and Reconstruction, and partly based on the impression that the West Coast and the East Coast (I'll call them Coasties from now on) look down on us Southerners/Midwesterners. We're nothing but the "flyover" only to be courted or cared about during election season.

As the extremely liberal child of a well-educated liberal family, I always chalked up the latter distrust of the Coasties to the same prejudiced-based mantra that the other distrusts came from. They were just being paranoid and trying to come up with any reason not to vote Democratic. To me, Boston, New York, DC, and San Francisco were meccas I couldn't wait to pilgrimage to, where I would find like-minded people who were open-minded, socialist, secular, and compassionate. After attending college in Missouri (where there were more liberals, but still a general distrust of the Coasties), I moved to DC for grad school. At first, it was everything that I imagined. I was surrounded (even during the Bush Administration) with people I thought were like me. They abhorred prejudice, ignorance, and wanted to change the world.

And then? I realized that the South and Midwest weren't actually that paranoid after all.

Over the last two years I cannot count the times that I or my fellow "Coastal immigrants" have encountered Coasties who would balk at saying anything negative about blacks or gays, but who take no second thought to insulting, stereotyping, and completely dismissing the South, the Midwest, and the millions of people who live there. I cannot count the times that I tell people I'm from Arkansas and they make a derogatory comment or face about either the South or about me. I cannot even recall the many times I've heard blatant bigotry spoken by people with high-caliber educations. From people who believe themselves to be educated, learned, cosmopolitan people. From people that I count as dear and beloved friends.

And the kicker? Most of these "Cosmopolitan people" have never even been to the Midwest or to the South. Some of these people want to travel the whole world, but refuse to go to Chicago because avoiding the Midwest/South is a "personal choice." For those that have ventured out, it was on the ubiquitous cross-country road trip that took them through the lower south or the straight middle. Yes, I admit, if my only experience with the South was the bigotry/poverty of Mississippi/Louisiana/Alabama, I might think that all the prejudice against Southerners I'd been taught growing up was true. But how is coming to that conclusion any different than being raised to hate black people, getting mugged by one and then saying that based on that one real-life experience all black people really are violent, worthless criminals? It's not. It's exactly the same, except that on the Coasts it's not okay to say that about black people anymore.

So here's the thing. Yes, there are lots of things about the South/Midwest that I am ashamed and disgusted by. Yes, there are lots of racists. Yes, it has lots of Protestant religious nuts. Yes, it has lots of poverty. Yes, it has a large rural population. Yes, it has a lot of Bush supporters. Yes, it has thick accents. Yes, it has people who hate women, gays, and anyone other than white men. But you know what? So does the North. So does California. So does Britain. So does pick-your-rural-town-of-choice. Idiots live everywhere. EVERYWHERE. For every KKK member in Mississippi, there's a Skinhead in NY. For every Confederate flag in Tennessee, there's a swastika in LA. For every Baptist preacher calling for the quarantine of all gays, there's a homophobic Catholic lady in Boston voting against gay marriage. For every trailer park-Yankee hating-"The South Will Rise Again" kid, there's a prejudiced/ignorant Coastie with illusions of moral superiority based solely on geography.

So, I'm here to set the record straight, 'cause I'm getting tired of people scowling at me when I tell them there's a job I want in Kansas City. I'm shouting because I'm tired of people treating me like my IQ is 50 points lower just because I'm from Arkansas. I'm bitching because I'm tired of my KC friend in LA getting dissed on by LA men who've never left Southern California in their lives. I'm putting up my fisticuffs because I'm tired of people asking my friend from Arkansas what "coast she's from" like those are the only two places intelligent people live. You know what? She's from the fucking middle.

There's a whole rest of America out there, with amazing music, spectacular novels, ground-breaking science, breath-taking art, fabulous microbrews. And, I admit it, it is a place where liberals sometimes have to fight tooth and nail to make a fucking difference. But doesn't that mean something? It's really easy to have an opinion when everyone else around you believes the same things. It's a lot harder (trust me) when saying what you believe means you might get threatened or ostracized. If there were nothing valid about "the middle," why would liberals stay put? Why wouldn't we all just pick up and move to Manhattan? The fact that there are liberals (and even entire "Blue" areas) shows how much there is to offer in what Coasties see as the amorphous and homogeneous "middle." Athens, GA is not the same culturally as Chicago, although they both have great independent music scenes. Wichita, Kansas has a completely different personality than rural Louisiana, but both offer a feeling of welcome and openness. Northwest Arkansas has more in common with the mountains of Tennessee than it does with the Delta lands of Northeast Arkansas, but all of Arkansas has beautiful, untouched nature unlike any other state. North Dakota is like a little Netherlands, windmills and all; while the Appalachians are like Scotland, fifes and all. During the 1990s, Lincoln, Nebraska was one of the great gay capitals of the US and Omaha became one of the hubs of the independent music scene. Iowa City, Iowa produces some of the best writers in the United States and Jackson, Mississippi is home to the Sweet Potato Queens, the funniest damn women in the country. This amazing diversity has resulted in some of the "great" American music traditions--jazz, rock 'n' roll, bluegrass, MoTown and the blues. It is where the trucker hats and cowboy boots Williamsburg, Brooklyn hipsters have appropriated come from. It is still the land of unmanned produce-stands, where you are trusted to pay for what you take. It is more than just "flyover" country. I may have moved away because of my career, but it's still my home.

I'm not saying that the middle is perfect. Yes, there are still a lot of problems. There is a disproportionate amount of poverty in some areas and an unreasonable amount of hatred in others. I'm not saying that everyone in the middle is "good." I'm not saying that there aren't things in the South that sicken me. I'm also not saying that I hate DC, Boston, NY, or San Francisco or the people I have met there, because I don't. What I am saying is that hating us just because of where we were born isn't going to make America any better. Stereotyping us all as ignorant, racist, and unworthy of respect does nothing for anyone. People like Bush are going to continue to win if things don't change, because, honestly, would you vote for a party whose members were bigoted against you and your family? Who only care about you when it means votes? Who don't even bother themselves with seeing what's out there, even when they have the means to? Probably not.

So the next time you're reading Tennessee Williams, admiring Bill Clinton, framing a print by Thomas Hart Benton, listening to Bright Eyes, or dancing to Nelly, remember that these people did not come from a vacuum. They are not anomalies or freaks. They are Midwesterners. They are Southerners. Most of all they are people.

And they deserve your respect and compassion, not your prejudice.

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Brick House

For those of you who know me, you know that, well... I'm a bit hippy. Not hippy dippy, but hippy-baby'sgoingtofallrightout-hippy. I'm not a fat girl, by any means. I am just that traditional Rubenesque, pear-shaped woman. I work out, I have good muscles, but I'm not nor have I ever been traditional skinny. Baby got back.

When I was younger, it really use to bother me. In fact, I was made fun of for my body shape all throughout school. Most of my friends are part of the more traditional idea of bodies. Sizes 2-8, if you know what I mean. My twin, in fact, has always been super little. While I was a size 12, she was a 4. It was really hard. Something happened, though, and I realized that no amount of starving or working out or obsessing is going to change my bones. I am what I am.

However, until I moved to DC there was always something that bothered me a bit. Even though I've dated/made out/whatever you want to call it with a lot of people and I'm happily married to a man who adores me, I was never really the girl who gets hit on when we all went out, no matter how much I shook the junk in my trunk. As cool as I was with my body, as proud as I was that even though my twin is a size 4, she can't run half the time I can, there's still something to be said for the boost that comes from getting checked out by people you don't know.

DC, however, has been different. I don't know if it's the diversity that exists here or what, but it seems like every other day I'm being objectified by some random stranger. Sometimes its gay women, which is also flattering, as I'm open...save the fact that I'm married. But most of the times, I'm saying 9 out of 10, it's a man of color. And it's not just whistles or shout outs or the stereotypical construction crew whoop. I'm talking being flat out hit on. For no other reason than the way I look. I don't know if it's a cultural thing or what... I don't want to make any sort of racial or cultural generalization, but I am not kidding that the only white man to hit on me in the last 3 years was my husband.

Case in point: Today, I was walking back home from the Post Office about a half mile up the way from my apartment and a white van pulls over. The driver, a beautiful black man with long braids starts talking to me. I pull out my ear buds so I can hear the dude, and he's asking me if I live in the area.

Dude: You live around here beautiful?
Me: No, I'm just walking to the Post Office.
Dude: Really? Awww, that's too bad. You wanna a ride?
Me: No thanks. I'm fine walking.
Dude: Well, what's your name?
Me: Elizabeth.
Dude: What would you say if I gave you my card, would you call me?
Me: I'm sorry, but I'm married.
Dude: Really???? Awwww...
Me (holding up my ring hand): Yep, really.
Dude: Baby, I just wanna be friends, that's all. I just wanna be your friend.
Me: I don't think my husband would like that...
Dude: Oh baby, let's just be friends.
Me: Sorry, man.
Dude: Well you take care Gorgeous.
Me: You too.

In actuality, my husband wouldn't care. I just don't know if I trust that the man just wants to be my friend. I mean, do you really pick up friends while driving a van down the street? The Dude sounds a little skeevy in the dialogue, but really he was nice. It wasn't threatening at all. In fact, the only time I've been threatened by anyone here in DC is when I wouldn't give some drunk belligerent money outside Metro Center. This encounter is just a typical example of what happens to me. People stopping their cars in the street, a dude in Radio Shack asking me if I'm biracial (and would like to go out), a man getting OFF the subway just to talk to me. I'm not kidding on that last one. I had a man see me from the window, get off the train, and ask if I wanted to go get coffee. He said he just wanted to get to know me. Again, sounds skeevy, but it wasn't. In fact, it's very flattering. Ask Allison, she was there. I may have a big butt, but I don't have a big head.

While the feminist in me is roaring that this sort of behavior is unacceptable, that it promotes a Rape Culture in which men (of all races and creeds) believe that they have the right to talk to or harass a woman just because of how she looks, another part of me giggles like a school girl. None of my encounters have ever made me feel threatened, although I'm not saying that it hasn't other women. That's the conflict. I might find flattery in a man stepping off of the Metro, but another woman could have felt very uncomfortable or harassed. Or the man that got off could have had totally bad intentions or a bad spirit. It's a hard thing for me to feel happy about, knowing what I know about America's Rape Culture... But I would be lying if I didn't say that it's nice to know that there are people out there who find me attractive. I guess it's a wobbly line.

In the end, I suppose what I'm saying is that after years of being ignored for my body, I'm glad that there are people out there who really do like it if baby got back.

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Are You Fucking Kidding Me?!

The Italian courts just ruled that if you rape a 14-year-old who has had sex before, the crime is less severe than if the girl had been a virgin.

Are you fucking kidding me?!!!

The case involved a step-dad who had forced his stepdaughter to perform oral sex on him. He claimed it was less traumatic since she wasn't a virgin anyhow. This kind of anti-woman thinking is along the same lines that claims you can't rape your wife or prostitutes. A 14-year-old's sexual experiences with peers does not change the horror of having someone that you trust, who is a parent, who is in a position of power, molesting you. When are people going to understand that rape is not about sex, it's about power. Sex is the weapon in which that step-dad controlled an innocent girl. By innocent I don't mean virginal, I mean without any blame in the situation. Virgin or no, slut or no, that individual sexual experience will change that girl forever. It will haunt her and will leave her forever changed, no matter how many times she had sex before or after. Period.

That man should be ashamed of himself. The Italian courts should be ashamed of themselves. We should be ashamed that Italy is hosting the Olympics when the men that rape 14-year-olds get lessened sentences based on a sexist, anti-victim culture.

Fuck, I'm mad.

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Moving On.

I've basically been out of commission for two weeks with bronchitis, so I'm now overwhelming all you loyal readers (ahem) with three blogs in one day! I know, you are in a tizzy about it, I can tell.

I haven't been able to do much the past couple of weeks, so there isn't much to write about. I've been bedridden and unable to participate as a productive member of society. I haven't been to the gym and my body is definitely feeling it. My first run this week is going to hurt. I have been able to apply for several new jobs and I actually have an interview this Thursday for a position in digital imaging/preservation at the National Archives. It's not exactly what I want to be doing in the long run but the people are great (I assisted them when I worked at NARA before) and the collection is top notch. I mean, it is the National Archives. Sort of goes without saying. Except I just said it.

I've also been applying for exhibits/curator positions all over the urban US. There are several in Manhattan, one in Brooklyn, and another in Kansas City. Although I'm not sure if I'm ready to go back to the Midwest, the position is at an amazing museum that focuses on the suburban experience. Think Tupperware, 1950s All-electric house, and TV dinners. I'm sure the place has great objects and a chance to do some great interpretation of class and gender in the 20th century. That just opened, so we'll see.

It's interesting that I'm applying practically anywhere with a bit of urban personality at this point. I really would prefer to stay here in DC because 1) I love it 2) I have a great crew here 3) We would have two sizeable paychecks for the first time in... well, ever 4) I hate moving. But there hasn't been much open here in the District, but a lot elsewhere. As much as I would rather stay here in the DC area, I want a better job. I want to spend the next 5 years at a place I really love being before I head back to grad school. I don't want to just work for the sake of filling time until I go back to school. Even if my work is at the Smithsonian. Prestige of name does not equal personal satisfaction, regardless of what many of my contemporaries feel about jobs/geography/clothing/etc.

Anyhow, I have about 5 more jobs to apply to tonight and more open every day. We'll see what happens. Perhaps a move is in my future. At least to Dupont Circle.

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So Fresh and So Clean

I don't tend to be a sentimental person... Okay, that's a lie, I'm a sap. A bitter, begrudging sap, but a sap nonetheless. Anyhow, all I have to say is that D.C. is so beautiful in the snow. All the snow against the white marble makes the whole city seem so quiet and peaceful and clean. It gives me buzzies in my stomach and makes me happy that I'm here.

It even almost makes me forget all of the bullshit coming from both the Congress and the White House. Almost.

Like I said, I'm a bitter sap, not a blind one.

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With Friends Like These...

If this is how Cheney treats his friends, imagine how he treats his enemies...

Oh wait, that's right, he tortures them, illegally detains them, and just generally violates their civil liberties. I forgot.

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Hell Freezing Over

I can't believe that roughly half of Americans are cool with illegal wiretapping, yet Pat Buchanan openly hates on Bush on the McLaughlin Group.

The world has flipped on its axis and no one else seems to notice. 'Cept all those D.C. people wearing flip flops in January.

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Tits on Fire

I recently discovered a BBC television series called Footballers Wives. It's aired on BBC America, but as I don't have cable television (it rots your brain and it's expensive... mainly it's expensive), I Netflixed the first series (seasons for you non-Brit watchers out there). This show is great! Apparently it's becoming quite the underground hit here in the USA. BBC America has already aired the first two series and is airing Series 3 soon. Or so I've heard from friends that have given their souls to the cable gods and from the BBC America website. While recently I've been preferring Britcoms like Last of the Summer Wine and Keeping Up Appearances, I decided to give this a try.

At first show, my husband and I were enthralled. However, this wasn't because of superb acting or social commentary on the lives of rich wives. In fact, it was like every other soaper (think Eastenders)... except that there was always one moment in the show where you go, whaaaaaaaa?

We have thus dubbed that type of moment "Tits on Fire." The inspiration for this term actually comes from a scene in one of the first episodes where one of the characters is being harassed by obnoxious, mysogynistic gits and somehow her breasts catch on fire. It's horrifying and I shouldn't make light or bastardize the event with a off-hand term... but I am. Well, not really. It's meant to apply to horrifying situations where the audience is horrified. Or shocked. Okay, I'm an uncouth person. I already know that. No need to leave comments stating as much.

Moving on.

We are actually now using this term whenever such a moment occurs in any series or movie, when one is left with his or her mouth gaping open. We even uttered "tits on fire" during an episode of Battlestar Galactica where a group of pilots get fried out of nowhere. Yes, I also watch Battlestar Galactica. I'm a bad person and I'm a geek.

Moving on. Again.

So next time you see something absolutely insane in a show (and please don't tell me that Desperate Housewives fits that bill...), feel free to steal my new term "tits on fire."

I promise not to call you a hater if I catch you.

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My Immune System Thinks It's Funny

I think my immune system knows that I don't have regular health insurance right now.

Why do I think this? Because I've been sick three times since the New Year. Why? I've been getting enough sleep, eating well, exercising when I can... And yet, still sick. It's so disrupting.

And not funny. You hear me immune system? Not funny.

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Betty and Rob and Woofwa

So me and my posse went out this weekend for a little round-up, shoot-out. Okay, not really. It was for boozing and dancing. But we were still a dangerous bunch. Okay, also not true. We're all pretty benign. Okay, very benign. Like little kittens. In fact, we didn't even go out... God, can't I James Frey a little bit?

Anyhow, we really did go out and it was a night of many weird-Os. First, at Heaven and Hell, there was the line-dancing, air-swimming girl who Antoine, Kelly and I decided is named Betty, works as a nanny, is from rural Montana (or Vermont... we were undecided) and drives a 90s model black Toyota Corolla that is rusting out. She rocked her body and boggled our minds. Who knew you could non-ironically line-dance to hip-hop?

After we left Heaven and Hell, we discovered our friend Corey had tried to get in but had been turned away because he was wearing a black hoodie and Heaven and Hell has a strict "no sweatshirt" policy... Don't they realize that sweatshirts are the indie boy uniform? It's not Corey's fault... it's just what he owns. It's in a rule book or something. So, Heaven and Hell was lame, but had strong gin and tonics. And Betty. Oh, Betty... I miss you already.

We finally ended up at the Blue Room, after Antoine and my molecules were squished together trying to get a drink at Angry Inch. We decided we wanted to remain separate entities, so we left. Blue Room didn't really have the music we were looking for, though, but it turned out to be fun. It had sort of a mix of hip-hop and house, which I don't tend to like, but it had a nice atmosphere. And a bar.

The most memorable part of the night actually happened while I was waiting for the restroom, which was near the bar. While waiting, I had an awful encounter with a man I have since named, Weird-O From West Africa(W-OFWA). Woofwa, if you will...

Woofwa: Hi
Me: Hi
Woofwa: You have to go to the bathroom?
Me: Yep.
Woofwa: Do you have to go bad? I'll help you.
Me (shifting uncomfortably): Um, I'm fine.
Woofwa (leaning forward and cupping his hands): If you have to go, I'll let you pee in my hands.
Me: Um... no thanks.
Woofwa: I'm just kidding, of course. Hahaha...
Me (turning to the girl next to me): Please pretend to be my friend. That man just asked me to pee in his hands...
Girl: Oh dear...
Me: Yeah, I know.

I'm not kidding. This happened. I'm still disturbed. It would have been less weird (but still inappropriate) for him to grab my boob or butt or something. But peeing in his hands? What?! Who says that? Woofwa, that's who.

On a brighter note, Betty actually ended up at the Blue Room too, although she had stopped air swimming. We had to find a new person to ponder and find did we ever. Next to us on the dancefloor was a short, chubby man with a red beard and glasses, bobbing his head and sort of wiggling his elbows. Antoine, Kelly and I decided that his name was Rob and that he watches anime. We were also convinced that he collects comic books and stores them in protective Mylar. Spurred on by gin and my belief in my deductive powers, I went up to Rob. I pretended to hit on him with the "what's your name, don't I know you?" line. His name is actually Rich... and he felt a strong need to tell me that we didn't know each other because he's from Boston.

Which I believe proves that he, in fact, keeps his comic books in Mylar.

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Keep Abortion Legal

I was writing a totally different post about boozing this weekend, but got interrupted by my friends Allison and Jeff who were heading out to look at the March for Life out on the Mall today.

I'm so mad now I can't finish my happy-go-lucky comedic rendering of Saturday night... We ended up walking all the way to the Supreme Court, holding makeshift signs, and protesting the Pro-Lifers with the 5 other Pro-Choice people who showed up on the steps of the Supreme Court. And you'd think that people who are supposedly so filled with love they can't bear for any baby ever conceived to die would be, I don't know, filled with love? Nope. Total jerks. We angry feminists were a thousand times nicer than these people.

God's love, my ass.

First, the median age of these protesters was about 14. These are kids who haven't even begun to learn how to think for themselves, much less ever known what it's like to have a job, yet not have enough money for food, much less for a baby. These are children... Stupid kids who want off from school so they can come socialize with other tweens and scream at people they've never even taken the time to really talk to...

Second, even though abortion affects women, the majority of these marchers were male. I'm not saying that father's don't have rights, but how in the hell can a 14-year-old boy know anything about being pregnant?! And what gives him the right to tell me that it's not my body?! I'm not kidding you, this was a so-called "conversation" I had while surrounded by angry anti-Roe activists. I was holding a sign that said "If you don't like abortions, don't have one. Keep your laws off my body" on one side and "More Trees, Less Bush." He apparently didn't like either of these sayings...

Boy: It's not your body!
Me: It's not? Really? Cause it seems to feel like it's my body... Like, when I pinch it, it hurts...
Boy: It's not your body until you have a child and you know what it's like to give life!
Me: How do you know I don't have children? How do you know I'm not a mom?!
Boy: Ummmmmmmm... well it's good if you do... um....

Apparently only childless women are against abortion... Of course, since I am childless and I was just confusing the poor, simple-minded boy, I'm not really disproving his point am I? Oh well... I disproved it in theory.

Finally, these people think that only they have the right to protest on the steps of the Supreme Court. We're not allowed to come to their rallies, even though they showed up en masse to the March for Women two years ago... The anger and belligerence seething from these marchers nearly suffocated the few of us protesting for women's rights. One kid stole my friend Allison's sign and tried to steal mine...while I was holding the Pro-Choice microphone and shouting "Women Will Decide Their Fate, Not the Church, Not the State!" He failed... And I nearly swore in front of major television outlets! Probably not good for our case for me to yell out "Fucking Kid! Give me back my fucking sign!" to a crowd-full of people.

Also, they kept "pretending" to fall into our sound system and turning it off so we couldn't be heard. They were literally and figuratively silencing women's right to choice. I was so angry. I know that all protests are like this... when I was in college I used to help organize the "Take Back the Night" march and you would surprised at how many people react angrily to an anti-rape march. I mean, really? What are you, for rape?! But this was different, as it was a National March on the steps of the Supreme Court of the United States of America, during a time when we are entering into another Dark Age... a time of anti-enlightenment and humanism and civil rights...

I know that last night was the candlelight vigil for Roe V. Wade, but I was disappointed at how few Pro-Choice people there were... Of course, I wasn't even planning on attending. My appearance was spontaneous activism borne of a lunch-time walk outside my office. Of course, when you work on the National Mall, I suppose it's easier to end up at the Supreme Court, holding a microphone and shouting at a thousand pro-life activists. I love D.C.

I'll leave you with one last retarded exchange, which occurred as we were walking back to make our signs... Jeff was smoking:

Idiot Kids: Smoking kills too!
Jeff: What?! Give me a break!
Allison: Shut the Fuck Up!
Idiot Kids: Go Home!!!!!
Me: I am home! I live here!
Idiot Kids: So do we!

Oooo, nice, Idiot Kids. Snap!

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Grrrrrrrr...

So, I'm not going to be able to take that class after all. It's going to take up too much time from work and if I take it, I can't volunteer at the Wilson. Which, seeing as how that's exhibits work, Wilson is better for me right now... Especially since I'm looking for a new job.

I was really excited. I even wrote out a little outline of edits. I started writing down call numbers of new books. Geek.

The bright side is that I can still edit my article on my own time... 'Cause that's gonna happen. Sigh.

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This or That

So, I love white wine.

Okay, okay, there's more to me than that... but essentially, I've been drinking vino throughout the night and have stayed up. My husband (tee hee, such a silly Victorian word) just went to sleep... and I'm still up. Of course, that was not without me sniffing his armpits repeatedly. He smells like snikerdoodle cookies. Now that's love.

Anyhow, I was staying up watching Poirot (see earlier post) in order to catch Dr. Who on late night public television. Yes, I watch PBS. Yes, I listen to NPR. It's true, I'm a liberal. But, here's the catch, I'm not from the coasts! Egads! I'm from... da da da... the middle of the US! Arkansas!!!!! Can it be true?

But I digress...

Staying up way past bedtime (in my case because of wine and a midafternoon nap, in his case because I made him) we caught This or That. It's this Burlesque game show that airs in San Fran, New York, Atlanta, and Arlington, Va (D.C.). It was hilarious. All I can say is "Sensual balloon popping." Wow.

Awesome what people will do...

I love not having cable. It forces me to find this stuff.

Fuck VH1.

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Hmmmmm

I just realized that in my sick delirium I put my underwear on inside-out this morning.

Too late now.

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Someone might see...

There are certain essentials that I always carry with me, no matter where I'm going. Even on days I'm not carrying my gym bag, I always have a purse big enough to carry a water bottle, my iPod, and a book. Yes, I always have a book. I'm a geek.

Well, the other day when I was packing up my bag, I couldn't decide what book to bring. I was reading two books at the time: Augusten Burroughs's Running with Scissors and (whew, this is hard to write...) Kathy Tyer's Star Wars: The Truce at Bakura. Even though I really wanted to continue the Star Wars book, which is set immediately after Return of the Jedi, I honestly thought this thought, "But I can't read a Star Wars book in public... What will people think?" So I packed Running with Scissors, which has the literary/hipster seal of approval. Plus it is a good book...

I was recounting this to a friend, because I was so embarrassed that I would think something so silly... I, in general, don't care what people think about me. I listen to what music I want to listen to, I dress how I want to dress, I drink what I want to drink... but there is a part in ALL of us (I don't care what you say) that makes those statements, the "someone might see" statements... In addition to this moment of weakness, I have also thought to myself that I don't want my iPod to be shuffling through my workout mix when I'm out and about because I don't want to die with Britney Spears playing... It's insane, so not how I really am about stuff... but there it is. I admit it. I care, even just a little bit, about what people think.

Well, when I was talking to my friend, I realized that I'm not the only person who does this. In fact, I realized that most people probably adjust their material expressions based on how others will respond. I also realized that the most retarded thing about it is that people end up impressing people who already agree with them!

How can I explain this? Let's see... Okay, for example, let's say you wear a certain brand of shoe in order to be seen as a certain type of person. The person that recognizes and validates the symbolism of that shoe you are wearing has to also inherently recognize the subjective value of the shoe. He has to think the shoe is already cool in order for you to be validated in the coolness of the shoe socially.

Let me put it another way: If I get on the train and I'm reading a copy of McSweeney's instead of the Star Wars book I really want to be reading, I am only capable of impressing other Metro riders who recognize the same social value of McSweeney's that I recognize. Metro riders who have no idea what it is don't care. Only other people placing the same symbolic value on my reading recognize the value of McSweeney's or would care enough to judge the value placed on a Star Wars book. Whether it be a yuppie with a Louis Vitton bag or a hipster with an Irvine Welsh book, it's essentially preaching to the same self-obsessed, image-conscious choir.

In the end, it's people trying for other people who care enough to try too. It seems so silly, when you think about it that way.

Of course, this is a harsh generalization. I know a lot of people read McSweeney's because it's frickin' hilarious and people who buy Louis Vitton because of the amazing craftmanship... I consider myself the type of person who wears what I want because I like it... But, come on and just admit it people! We all care what other people think, no matter how much we say we are above the fray, how alternative, how independent thinking, how unmaterialistic, how self-assured we are... No one lives in a social vacuum. Even if the only people we care about caring are the five other people who know the name of the obscure band we are seeing at a show at a club that opened for business only two days ago. Stop pretending! Embrace it! You care too!

And I guess I can give myself some slack for being embarrassed about Star Wars. I think it's fair to say that EVERYONE on that train would have been silently judging me for reading a Star Wars book. That's not just uncool... That's pretty geeky.

If you only knew...

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Frizzle Frazzle

Okay, so I promised to update on my to-dos with "Healthy Living 2006." As of now, I'm failing... not because I haven't been eating well, exercising regularly, and getting lots of rest, but because I've been sick for a frickin' week with what appears to be a sinus infection. I've essentially been sleeping for the past five days. Grrr... The week before, I went running three times and did free weights at home twice... I watched my money, worked hard, set up two new things to expand my resume while I'm working in preservation instead of exhibits... It was good. And then? And then sinus pressure, headache, and fatigue.

Grrrrr.

Well, hopefully next week I will be back on track for "health living." I can go back to work and digitize more fishies, get back to the gym, and make some of the yummy meals I planned for this week. Also, on Wednesday, I am going back to help the Curator at the Woodrow Wilson House on their next exhibit. It's on this French designer, Worth. I love the Woodrow Wilson House. When I was last there, I was given so much responsibility and had an entire exhibit script, plan, and research to show for my efforts. I won't be able to be as involved this time around, since I'm only able to work one day a week, but when I am there, I know I'll definitely be getting my hands dirty. I'm excited!

Also, because I'm a nut, I'm going to be joining an American Studies Writing Seminar to work on an article that seems so close to being done...but I know isn't. Right now, it's at about 35 pages and the interpretation of the primary sources is pretty good. But I need to do more with the historical context section. Plus I have to figure out what journals and what bent they are more interested in... The Professor who's teaching it is so wonderful to let me in the class, since I am no longer a student and I was never an American Studies masters student. I took several of her content classes when I was getting my masters in Museum Studies and we really took to each other. The class is basically for her PhD dissertation students who are writing there diss. chapters. I get no credit for the class and I can't put it on my transcript. I'm just doing it because I want to write and publish an article in my free time. God, I'm insane...

Of course, the subject is just so fun. And this is what I love doing. I love writing, especially academic papers. I would tell you what the article is, but I don't want you to steal my amazing idea. Hey, publishing in academia is cutthroat man! Some guy published a book on the same subject, like, one second before my dad was going to defend his dissertation. Seriously.
I will say that the article is a cultural studies/media studies subject with a women's studies bent. And that it involves watching lots of bad 1970s/80s soap operas. The way I see it, soap operas can't do nuttin' but help my "healthy living," man.

Rock on, Mr. Perm, rock on.

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Bye Bye Monkey.

I have a lot of different posts I'm working on right now, but I have have have have to post this first:

I found out yesterday that one of the best friends I've ever had is moving to Boston for an AMAAAAAAZING job in the costume/textile department of the Museum of Fine Arts.

I became friends with Allison the moment I saw her at orientation my first day at GWU. She had short, funky hair, cute clothes, a wonderful smile, and worn out flippity flops. I said to myself, that girl is going to be my friend. I know, it sounds so superficial and it's actually against my better judgment to find friends that way (as I'll explain in a later post) but it was less what Allison was wearing and more her presence. I actually became friends with my bestest friend Jennipher because she had an awesome red leather coat and wicked red glasses... Allison and Jennipher are the only two examples of people I continue to like based on these originally superficial assumptions... In both of these cases, I'm so lucky I used to be vain and superficial, because I don't know what I would have done these last two years without both of them.

Luckily for me, Allison thought the same thing about me. We immediately made plans to watch Girls Just Want to Have Fun and quickly became our own little twosome. Eventually, our group of friends filled out and now includes other amazing people I can't imagine being without... but Allison is still my Monkey. She's still that other part of my superhero team. When I see a mullet on the Metro, a great fashion faux-pas like hooker shoes, get great news, or have a clothing/hair/life crisis, Allison is invariably the person that I call first... Okay, sometimes I call my husband or mom first, but you get the idea. She's my girl. And she's leaving...

So, this post here is a shout-out to Allison Sloan Murphy, kick-ass Californian stuck on the East Coast and all-around amazing best friend. She's the kind of girl you feel lucky to have met, even if in order to do so you just spent $70,000 to get an ultimately useless, niche Masters. Allison being my friend is worth every loan check I write.

Good Luck in Boston, Allison. I'll miss you terribly. I'm just a MySpace comment away.

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All Aboard the Health Train!

So, New Year, New You, right? Although I usually make a very specific resolution, like "buy less celebrity gossip magazines," this year I'm going obtuse and mantra-esque... "Healthy Living" in 2006.

I know, I know, what does "Healthy Living" even mean and how in the world would one keep up such a resolution?

Essentially, the gist is that I want to eat better, work out more, have more patience, read more, be proactive... I want to be healthy emotionally, physically, and, cough cough, "spiritually." Okay, that one can go, it's just it's sort of a triumvarate and I couldn't exclude it.

This last year was a major stresser... I was always running around with my temper ready to flare, my mouth filled with crap food or beer, and my eyes filled with tears. I know, it's sounds so melodramatic, but it's true. I realized that all of the drinking, stressing, and life-changes were taking a toll on me and my personality. I was just so tired and anxious all of the time. So, I decided that this year, I will change the things that I can so I have a better chance of handling the things that I can't. Plus, I gained ten pounds and that has got to go.

Thankfully, it's not as bad as the great Zoloft incident of 2002, where I packed on 35 pounds in about a month, thanks to my lovely and less than forthright shrink:

Doctor: Elizabeth, we have decided that you have OCD and Panic Disorder. We think you should take some Zoloft, which is the only FDA approved SSRI for OCD.
Elizabeth: Um, okay. If you think it will help. Are there any side effects?
Doctor: Well, yes. You might have dry mouth, vivid dreams, and sexual disfunction. But probably not. Trust me.
Elizabeth. Well, okay. I guess it's worth it.

Two months and 35 pounds later, I discovered that Zoloft had one more side effect than the doctor had told me: Sudden and extreme weight gain... oh yeah and as long as you were on the Zoloft, you couldn't lose it. New diagnosis: Depression due to Zoloft side effects. What's the point of not having panic attacks if you don't like sex and your pants don't fit?

With the help of my best friend and health junkie Jennipher, a treadmill, and a healthy diet, I lost all of the weight and then some. But, with this last year, I just haven't been able to live and take care of myself like I want to. Thus, "Healthy Living 2006." I don't have Zoloft's extreme side effects as an excuse for my health this time, I just have me and my choices.

In order to facilitate this resolution, I am planning on doing weekly updates on my blog as to my progress, activities, etc. If I know people out there (some I'm sure I like, some not... you know who you are) are reading this, it pushes my results into the spotlight. People always perform better, make "right" decisions, behave when they think they are being watched. It's the best part of society, I think. Positive behavior out of guilt/legal action/shame.

So, if you don't like reading those sorts of posts, sorry. I promise there will also be cultural critiques along with my obsessive overviews of my diet. Unless I decide they aren't "healthy." Just kidding.

Cheers.

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New Year, Scmew Year...

Well, it's official. It's 2006. 2005 is finally over. Whew. Jesus Christ, it took a long time...

I was talking to my mom and her hope was that we don't have a repeat of 2005 and I heartedly agreed... but then I started thinking about it and a lot of good stuff happened last year. I got a contract at the Smithsonian, graduated with my Masters, wrote an entire exhibit for the Woodrow Wilson House, got married, had several parties celebrating this fact, went to other dear friends' weddings, made new friends... but then there was that one thing that seems to be fogging up my family's memories of 2005. It's insane how one bad thing, just one, can shape how we remember every other event. 2005 = the Year Grandma Died.

Hopefully, in time, I'll remember 2005 as the year that I got married, received my Masters, and started my life as a museum professional... that also happened to be the year my Grandma passed on.

As for 2006, I'm hoping for a year without a bad thing to define it... In fact, it would be nice to have a year of just ho-hum for once. So, here's to seeing the same old friends, drinking the same old beer, seeing the same old movies, and all the wonderfulness of a ho-hum life in 2006!

Happy New Year to All! May your 2006 be exactly what you want it to be!

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iTunes

Open iTunes/iPod or Windows Media Player to answer the following:

Go to your library.

Answer, no matter how embarrasing it is. Seriously. I even put that
I have Britney Spears on here and you know I'm a music snob... I used
my WHOLE library, not just what's on my iPod or what I listen to. So
there's stuff from Junior High on here. Isn't iTunes awesome?

How many songs? 18564

Sort by artist

First artist: !!!
Last artist: Pinchas Zuckerman

Sort by song title

First Song: "...Baby One More Time" by Britney Spears
Last Song: "Zum Gali Gali" by Yiddish Swingtette

Sort by time:

Shortest Song: "The Sky Is A Harpsichord Canvas" by The Olivia Tremor
Control (00:04)
Longest Song: "Sound of Confusion" by Brian Jonestown Massacre (33:02)

First Album: !!! by !!!
Last Album: "Zoot Suit Riot" by Cherry Poppin' Daddies

First song that comes up on Shuffle:
"Life Sentence" by Dead Kennedys

How many songs come up when you search for "sex"?
52

How many songs come up when you search for "death"?
109

How many songs come up when you search for "love"?
799

How many songs come up when you search for "you"?
1475

How many songs come up when you search for "why"?
47

Put the next 20 songs that come up on shuffle:

Note: I only used my iPod playlist because otherwise I would have all sorts of books/spoken word. I only shuffle with that playlist anyhow.

Put the next 20 songs that come up on shuffle:

1. The Ronettes "Why Don't They Let Us Fall In Love?"
2. Son Volt "Drown"
3. Scissor Sisters "Take Your Mama"
4. Elliot Smith "Good to Go"
5. Velvet Underground "Rock & Roll"
6. Cat Power "In This Hole"
7. Whiskeytown "Tennessee Square"
8. Iggy and the Stooges "Shake Appeal"
9. Deke Dickerson "Track 04 from Randy's Mix"
10. Bob Dylan "Mississippi"
11. Ani DiFranco "Cloud Blood"
12. The Promise Ring "The Deep South"
13. Serge Gainsbourg "Bonnie and Clyde"
14. Bjork "Army of Me"
15. Elton John "This Song Has No Title"
16. Talking Heads "Slippery People"
17. Billy Lee Riley "Red Hot"
18. Loretta Lynn "Miss Being Mrs."
19. The Softies "Fragile, Don't Crush"
20. Aretha Franklin "Drown In My Own Tears"

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